


here for the good life

by whiskybusiness



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Party Games, Service Top!Hongjoong, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension, and they were ROOMMATES, kim hongjoong is horny and not just for love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/whiskybusiness
Summary: It starts, as Hongjoong should have expected, with a game of Never Have I Ever.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts, as Hongjoong should have expected, with a game of Never Have I Ever. 

MX threw the opening frat bash of the spring semester, so that's where he is on this fine Friday night—standing in their messy kitchen, listening to Seonghwa and Hwanwoong debate whether girl crush concepts are meant to cater to the taste of Western k-pop fans. 

He kind of didn't want to come if he's honest. What he really wanted to do was hunker down in the music labs, get his hands all over the new recording equipment, but Seonghwa had given him this look that said _if I'm going, you're coming with me_. And that was that.

Hwanwoong's not close with him or Seonghwa; he's Mingi's friend from dance class. But he's a rabid girl group stan, which means Seonghwa likes him. Hongjoong likes him too, but more because Hwanwoong's shorter than him. It’s an inch, but whatever. He’ll take what he can get. 

Anyway. Hongjoong's been spaced out of the conversation for a while now, the three cups of mystery punch he downed making everything seem slow motion and complicated. Seonghwa's matched him cup for cup, and Hongjoong concentrates back on the conversation enough to be impressed with how well Drunk Seonghwa can analyze the nuances of the Kill This Love MV. 

Then someone grabs his arm and he jumps. 

"Guys guys guys," Hongjoong turns and it's Yunho, cheeks red, who's holding his arm. "We're playing Never Have I Ever, you gotta come." Yunho notices Hwanwoong. "Woong, you can come too! You're cool."

Hwanwoong laughs. “That’s okay,” he says, and puts his drink down on the table next to them. "I should actually head out. Got a lot to catch up on for next week.” 

As soon as he’s gone, Yunho tugs Hongjoong and Seonghwa forward again. Or, more like Yunho tugs Hongjoong and looks pleadingly at Seonghwa, because Seonghwa is not Tugged. "Come on, _please_."

"Who's even there?" Seonghwa asks, with the energy of a burnt piece of toast. 

"Just our house,” Yunho assures him. “The whole house.”

Hongjoong is relieved to hear that. They'd let Jongho tag along and the last time Hongjoong saw him, he was being dragged down to MX's basement by the sophomores, his cup of punch held so tight in his hand Hongjoong thought it might break. 

"Fine, we'll play," Hongjoong tells Yunho after carrying out a very heated (drunk) eye conversation with Seonghwa. 

"Oh fuck yeah.” Yunho jumps in place like an excited puppy. “Follow me.” 

He leads them over to the back door and onto the porch, where the rest of ATEEZ house is gathered around a dusty table. 

"They're here!" Wooyoung cries out, jumping up and hugging them with an enthusiasm that borders on aggression. "My favorite parents have not abandoned me."

Hongjoong pats his back. "Parents thing still kinda weird, but hi, Wooyoung." 

Beside him, Seonghwa has already extricated himself and sat down at an empty chair. The only other open spot is across from him, between Yeosang and Wooyoung, and Hongjoong drops down into the rickety wooden chair. It feels good to stop moving. He was getting dizzy.

Looking around, Hongjoong thinks Wooyoung is the most drunk, followed by Yunho, then Mingi and San. It's hard to tell with Yeosang and Jongho, who are both pink and watching the proceedings with an air of pleasant, detached amusement.

"Let's play!" San shouts, and Hongjoong can't hold back a giggle when he sees Seonghwa wince.

_I'll kill you,_ Seonghwa eye-shoots at him. Out loud, he says, "Can we get a rules recap? I think I’ve blocked out the memory of playing this. Because it’s so terrible and dumb."

“Seonghwa’s idea of fun is deep-cleaning the bathroom or jerking off to Zimzalabim,” Wooyoung says, and then high-fives San. Hongjoong snorts, one hand coming up to cover his face. 

“That was one of your better roasts, actually.” Seonghwa’s lips are pressed together like he’s trying to keep from smiling. 

"Okay, for the _uncultured_ among us," San inclines his head toward Seonghwa. "Never Have I Ever: a simple game. Timeless classic, really; a staple of sexually repressed, intoxicated kids everywhere—"

"I'll tell you the rules," Mingi cuts in. "Each person puts up ten fingers—" he demonstrates by holding up two hands, palms out— “and then we go around and each person says something they’ve never done.”

“That’s it?” Jongho looks confused. 

“If you’d let me _finish_, J-Ho.” Mingi shakes his head. “It should be something kind of wild. But also something you think someone here might’ve actually done.” 

“And you can’t fucking lie,” San adds with heat, staring at Wooyoung until he giggles and buries his face in Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“So you put a finger down if you’ve done the thing,” Yunho chimes in. “And the person who loses all their fingers first wins. Or loses?”

“I don’t remember.” Mingi frowns.

“Whatever, the game’s over then.” Yunho holds up his hands. “Okay, I think that’s it! We can start. Fingers up, y’all.”

“Oh my god, Joong’s hands are so fucking small.” Laughing, Wooyoung tries to slot his hand against Hongjoong’s to measure their fingers, but Hongjoong just hits him in the shoulder. “Ow! Okay, I’m sorry. I’m ready to play now.”

Finally, all eight of them quiet down and raise their hands. 

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa and finds him already looking back. _I love our dumbass family_ he tries to say, quirking up the corner of his mouth. He thinks it gets across. Seonghwa closes his eyes once, and when he opens them, the exasperated fondness in his eyes feels like home. 

“I’ll go first,” San says. “I’ve never looked at porn in class.”

A pause. And then: “Mingi, what the fuck,” Wooyoung says, scandalized. 

Mingi’s blushing. “It was _one time._ I clicked on this embedded video on Twitter and it turned out to be a clip from a Mia Khalifa DP video.”

“And you kept watching it?” San asks, amused. 

“I mean, it was stats. I was so fucking bored.”

“Well, Mingi’s a pervert, nothing new there,” Yunho says cheerfully, and dodges the elbow Mingi shoves into his side. He’s next. “Uh, Never Have I Ever...been blackout drunk.” 

That kills a lot of fingers. _God, I live with such heathens,_ Hongjoong thinks. He himself has never been blackout. The only time he got close, he took like eight shots in an hour and started grinding against Seonghwa like a feral dog. Never again did he make that mistake. 

They go through all of the house twice, until it's suddenly 1 a.m. The game keeps getting delayed by discussion and laughter, but Hongjoong isn’t complaining. He’s still feeling the simmer of alcohol in his veins, making his smile come loose and easy. 

He keeps his eyes on Seonghwa’s hands almost as an instinct. They’ve stayed pretty much even the whole time, sitting at a lame two (him) and three (Seonghwa) fingers down. That’s probably a good thing, with the weird kind of shit the kids keep choosing. 

“Y’all, pause,” San says at one point, cutting Wooyoung off before his turn. “How the _fuck_ does Yeosang only have one finger left?”

They all turn to stare at Yeosang, and yep, San’s right. Yeosang has both his hands up, but only the pointer finger of his right hand is held up, the other hand curled into a loose fist. 

Yeosang’s cheeks turn pink from the attention. “I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he says, and giggles a little. 

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung breathes, tone reverent. “Buddy, what the heck. When did you do any of those things?”

Yeosang shrugs. “It’s college. I don’t know, I thought I was the only kinky one here?”

“Ki—” Wooyoung can barely finish the word. “What the heck,” he says again, looking like his whole world has turned upside down.

“You broke Wooyoung,” San informs Yeosang. “It’s easy to do, but good job anyway.”

“Alright, Jongho, this could be it for all of us,” Mingi says. He’s in second place with three fingers still alive. Wooyoung, San, and Yunho are at four. “Make it good.”

Jongho has six fingers up. Hongjoong takes a second to be embarrassed that a fucking freshman has had more wild experiences than him and Seonghwa. But then again, he and Seonghwa are kind of like nerdy grandparents who’d rather go to the Japanese market and try new snacks than hit up a strip club. Their absolute lack of game is surprising to no one. 

“Uh, okay.” Jongho’s sweaty, hair falling onto his forehead. “I’ve never, um. I’ve never bought anything from a sex shop?”

A beat of silence, and then Yeosang folds down his remaining finger with a smile. 

“OH MY GOD YEOSANG WON,” Mingi crows. 

Yunho and San jump up and swarm him, burying him under their arms. They’re being so _loud_, as fucking always, and now Wooyoung and Mingi and Jongho are all whooping like seals at feeding time, hitting the woah over and over again. 

But Hongjoong’s not listening. The blood in his ears roars, drowning out sound, and his eyes blink slow—once, twice. 

Because. He’d been looking at Seonghwa’s hands when Jongho spoke, and Seonghwa had folded down his pointer finger. _He’d folded down his pointer finger._

Seonghwa’s bought something from a sex shop. 

___

It’s nearly 2:30 in the morning when they get home. 

As soon as they turn on the kitchen lights, the sophomores + Jongho start blabbering about watching a movie. Hongjoong nods to Seonghwa and they make their escape up to the attic they share, split into two rooms by a highly illegal wood partition. 

“Are you tired?” Seonghwa asks, leaning against his door frame. 

“Nah, not really,” Hongjoong lies. “Want to watch something?”

It’s not a good idea. He’s still in shock from earlier, feeling frozen and panicky at the same time. He keeps trying to reconcile the idea of a sex store with Seonghwa and parse out what the _fuck_ he might have bought there. 

Every time he thinks about it he tries to slap the thoughts out of his brain, because DANGER, but it’s like telling yourself not to think about elephants. Every time you try, it’s like BLAM _elephant elephant more elephant will I ever see an elephant what sex toy does Seonghwa have and—_

He might still be a little drunk. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says. “Give me a sec, I’ll grab my laptop.”

They settle onto Hongjoong’s bed when he comes back, laptop placed carefully between their legs. 

They’ve done this too many times for Hongjoong to count. This year, though, they can do it on a bigger bed, because Hongjoong shelled out for a queen size mattress and even bought a matching bed frame off some dude on Craigslist. 

Having the extra space makes it feel a little less Netflix and chill-y when they do this. Hongjoong can actually relax now—unlike when he was a freshman, when he couldn’t stop thinking about how close their thighs were on his extra long twin bed. How he could turn onto his side and almost be on top of Seonghwa. 

Yeah, queen size is where it’s at. 

“What do you want to watch?” Seonghwa asks.

“Next Top Model?” Hongjoong asks, and Seonghwa must be really tired, because he just _mmphs_ and nods, eyes half-lidded where his head rests on the pillow. 

They get through to the elimination stage when the stream freezes. 

“This wifi is so fucking bad,” Hongjoong moans, propping himself up on one elbow to reload the page. 

“Mmm.”

“You could at least pretend to want to know who gets kicked off.” Hongjoong looks over and sees that Seonghwa’s eyes are closed. He pushes at Seonghwa’s shoulder, a safe touch. “I need your magic tech touch. It won’t load.” 

“But I don’t care.” Seonghwa groans and opens his eyes. He shifts into a sitting position and mouses over the wifi icon, turns it off and then on. _There is no internet connection,_ the screen tells them. Seonghwa lowers himself back down with a sigh. “Just give it a minute, it might start working again.”

Hongjoong picks at a loose thread in his sheets. It’s really quiet all of a sudden, now that the AC in the window has stopped its whirring. He can’t hear anything from below either, which is kind of scary, now that he thinks about it. 

He’s never been good with silences. 

“So, um,” Hongjoong starts, heart squeezing in his chest. “When did you go to a sex shop?” He laughs as he says it, tries to keep his voice light, like bros talking about the weather. Or whatever bros talk about. “Did you go with Akirah?”

He can barely look at Seonghwa, heart thudding in his chest like a war drum.

“No, it was after we broke up,” Seonghwa says eventually. He sounds more awake now, voice low but clear in the quiet. “I went with Yeosang, actually.” 

_Yeosang._ Hongjoong can’t suppress a wave of jealousy. Why Yeosang? Why Yeosang and not—_me_, is what he’s thinking, but that’s so dumb he can’t even. Seonghwa is allowed to have other friends. He’s allowed to be close to the people who live in their fucking house, for God’s sake. 

Anyway, if they went after Akirah ended things—that means they went sometime at the end of sophomore year, before she yeeted to Australia for a year. 

So Seonghwa’s had this sex store purchase for almost a year now.

Hongjoong really should stop there. The stream could start working any second, but he could tell Seonghwa he wanted to go to sleep before it does, and end it at that. Get out of the conversation and wipe the subject from his brain, preferably forever. 

“What was it?” 

_Fuck_. 

“Seriously?” Seonghwa’s voice cracks on the word. Hongjoong cringes under his eyes. “You want to know what I got at a sex store?”

“I mean, like, it’s kinda funny?” he hazards. He shifts into teasing mode, forcing a smile, because that’s more familiar ground. “You definitely got a fleshlight, didn’t you. That’s why you’re being so coy.”

“I did not get a—” Seonghwa stops and breathes out. “Just drop it, Joong.”

“Okay, what did Yeosang get, then?” Hongjoong knows he’s being annoying, but he can’t stop talking, like the words are feeding the nervous curiosity in his stomach. 

“That’s not your business either.” 

“Why’re you being so serious?” he whines, and he really should stop there, because Seonghwa’s frowning at the wall, body tight with tension. Danger zone. Hongjoong takes a look at the signs and ignores them. “You know I’ll still love you if you’re into weird shit like Yeosang—”

“For fuck’s sake, Hongjoong, I said drop it.” Seonghwa meets his eyes and he’s angry, oh fuck. Hongjoong flinches back from his gaze like a misbehaving puppy. “Are you listening to me at all?” 

“I didn’t mean...” Hongjoong never knows how to deal with Seonghwa when he’s pissed off at him. It rarely happens, but when it does, it’s always because Hongjoong has taken one step too far, heedless of the blinking warnings. “Sorry, I just didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

Seonghwa searches his eyes and then sighs. He flips the laptop shut, the sound like a clap of thunder in the silence. “I’m going to bed,” he says to the wall, then gets up. “Good night.”

Hongjoong watches him walk away. His brain feels lethargic, too slow to figure out what to say to fix this. He’s never been good at apologies, either. 

“Good night,” he pushes out, when Seonghwa reaches the door. It garners a pause, but Seonghwa’s gone in the next breath, leaving Hongjoong to feel like the world’s biggest fucking clown. 

He’ll fix it tomorrow. 

_____

Except he doesn’t see Seonghwa tomorrow. 

“He went to Busan to visit his uncle,” Mingi tells him when Hongjoong wanders downstairs the next day, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Oh.” Hongjoong feels guilt blaze in his stomach. 

_hope u have a good trip!_ he texts. Because he should be nice, even more so than normal. Maybe that’ll help if Seonghwa’s still mad about last night. 

He spends the entire day in the music lab playing with the keyboard and synths. The toys are so new and shiny. Hongjoong can lose time so much time like this—give him a halfway decent computer and recording setup and he forgets to eat and sleep completely. 

It’s 10 p.m. when he takes a break and picks up his phone for the first time in hours.

**thanks** Seonghwa sent him, twenty minutes ago. 

Hongjoong stares at the message. **thanks.** It’s not the worst, but not great either. Maybe Seonghwa just needs some more time to forget how irritating Hongjoong is. This is how it usually goes—Seonghwa forces some space until he comes back and just picks back up like nothing happened. 

It’s been buzzing at Hongjoong’s brain, though, still. The sex shop thing. Hongjoong has an addictive personality, and he knows it. Knows he needs to knee it in the balls sometimes, but he’s latched on so hard to this fucking _secret_ that he can’t stop himself from wondering. 

After a minute of indecision he opens his chat with Yeosang. The thought of what he’s about to do makes guilt flare in his belly again (Hongjoong no!) but he goes ahead anyway (Hongjoong yes!).

_hi bb_  
_do u remember how much the stuff u and seonghwa got from the sex store was?_  
_i kinda wanna go tbh but not if it’s gonna make me broke lol_

He pauses, then adds: _i asked sh but he said he couldnt remember_

Whooooosh. Hongjoong breathes out and throws the phone on the table. He looks at it for a long moment and then it buzzes. 

**oh lmao he rly told u abt that?**

He and Yeosang both text like the lazy gays they are. Seonghwa hates it. 

Yeosang’s still typing. 

**uhh i got the nipple clamps for like $20 i think?**  
**i remember bc i was like, i could just put clothespins on them for a dollar ffs**  
**the guy thought that was cute tho i got his # and he bought them 4 me**

Classic Yeosang. Hongjoong’s smirking as he reads the texts. He can imagine all of that in vivid detail. Especially, he can imagine Seonghwa sulking in the background like the weird goth cousin at family gatherings. 

Yeosang’s typing away. 

**but i think seonghwa paid 30 for the dildo?**

Hongjoong drops the phone. 

_Seonghwa—paid—30—for—the—dildo_. 

Body trembling, he grabs the phone off the ground and re-reads the text. Yes, there it is: _Seonghwa...dildo._

No no no no no. NO. 

This must be how Pandora felt when she opened that fucking box. Or how Eve felt when she finally got a taste of that apple and the next second got cursed with period cramps and toxic masculinity.

Seonghwa is open to guys, Hongjoong reminds himself. He’s said that explicitly to Hongjoong, even if it was only brought up the one time freshman year, in response to Hongjoong’s anxious announcement that he was pan. 

So what if Seonghwa has never set a label for himself. So what if he’s only hooked up with girls since then; dated Akirah for like six months last year. 

And anyway, Hongjoong _knows_ you don’t have to be a Kinsey Scale 6 gay to like anal stimulation (even if he doesn’t prefer it himself). Plenty of straight guys like when their girlfriends play with their ass. He doesn’t know what Seonghwa is, in exact terms, but it shouldn’t be such a surprise that he apparently likes fucking himself with a dildo. 

Oh God. Hongjoong has to bend over and pinch himself, fighting the way his body reacts to the picture those words conjure. No no no, _please._

New rule: do not use Seonghwa and fucking and dildo in the same sentence. Do not think about Seonghwa and his dildo at all. 

He could have bought it for someone else, even if it wasn’t for Akirah, Hongjoong reasons. Watch that be true and Hongjoong would really be clown of the year. But the way Seonghwa reacted last night makes him almost sure whatever he purchased was for self-use only. 

_Does he use it when I’m in my room_, Hongjoong has to wonder, and his knees start to quiver again. Oh fuck that would be so hot. That would be so fucking hot if Seonghwa had to bite his lip because he knew Hongjoong was in the other room, had to make sure he kept quiet as he fucked himself. 

BAD. NO. WRONG. 

Clear the searches: Seonghwa best friend. Seonghwa photography major. Seonghwa good listener. Seonghwa roommate. Seonghwa IZ*ONE fan. Seonghwa—

Hongjoong stays the rest of the night in the studio, hoping exhaustion will burn his mind into submission. 

It doesn’t work. 

_______

He sees Seonghwa’s shoes by the door when he gets back to the house the next day. 

San and Wooyoung are playing some kind of complicated finger game at the kitchen table, and Mingi’s standing in front of the open fridge. Yunho lounges on the couch with a bag of chips. 

“Seonghwa’s back?” Hongjoong asks. 

Yunho nods. “Yeah, he’s in the bathroom.”

Hongjoong hears the sound of a toilet flushing and water running. Then, before he’s had any time to prepare himself, the door opens. Seonghwa takes a step out of the bathroom and stops when he sees Hongjoong. 

“Hi,” Hongjoong chirps, his voice so high-pitched it makes him want to die. He pastes the biggest smile on his face. “Welcome back!”

Seonghwa brushes by him with a gruff, barely audible hello. 

_Oh._ So it’s bad, still. Hongjoong’s stomach curdles. He feels nauseated, like he just ate bad meat. 

“Did you enjoy your trip?” he tries again, as Seonghwa gathers his bags from the floor. 

“Yeah.” Seonghwa throws the word toward him like it’s a piece of trash. “I’m going to nap,” he announces to the room, and starts heading up the stairs. 

Hongjoong doesn’t realize he’s staring after him until there’s a hand on his shoulder. When he turns, he finds the hand belongs to Yeosang. When did Yeosang come into the room? He can’t remember. 

_Yeah._ Seonghwa didn’t even look at him. Seonghwa talked to him like he was dirt. 

“He’s upset,” Yeosang says softly. _No duh._ Hongjoong blinks at him. “You shouldn’t have tricked me like that,” he continues, the rebuke subtle but clear in his voice. 

Oh. “Wait—”

“You really thought I wouldn’t text him about it, Joong? That he wouldn't realize?” 

“I guess I,” Hongjoong tries to string the words together in a way that makes sense. “I guess I didn’t think it through.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that much.” Yeosang gives him a slight smile. 

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Hongjoong rushes out. 

He feels so, so terrible. He used his friends and for what? The answer to a question he shouldn’t have even been asking in the first place? And now Seonghwa thinks he’s trash and Yeosang, Yeosang still has his hand on Hongjoong’s arm, rubbing little soothing circles over his sweatshirt. 

“It’s okay, but don’t do it again, hm?” 

Hongjoong nods so fast his teeth clack together. “God, why did I do that,” he moans, head dropping into his hands. “Why am I so stupid.”

“List is too long at this point,” Wooyoung must have gotten up from the table because he’s standing beside Yeosang now. His head tilts to the side as he notices the way Hongjoong’s close to losing it. “Wait, what’s wrong, Joong?”

“Nothing,” Hongjoong grits out. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“He made Seonghwa mad,” Yeosang explains. 

“Oh, shit. That’s why he came in here looking like he wanted to kill someone?”

“Let’s go watch Antman with Yunho,” Yeosang says with a glance at Hongjoong, pushing Wooyong toward the couch. To Hongjoong, he says, “Just give him a little time before you talk to him.”

_Just give him a little time._ Hongjoong can do that. He definitely can do that. He definitely can stop himself from sprinting up the stairs right now and bursting into Seonghwa’s room, wailing like a hurt animal and prostrating himself, belly up, at Seonghwa’s feet. 

He goes up to the bathroom they share on the third floor and showers. Then he brushes his teeth and puts a sheet mask on, takes a bunch of dumb selfies and posts a story to Instagram. He scrolls through the explore page, leg jittering like he fed it redbull, and then he’s had it. He can’t wait any fucking longer.

“Hi,” he says after he knocks on Seonghwa’s “door,” which is just a big hole in the wood screen that they cover with a curtain. His breath feels tight and heavy in his chest. “Can we talk?”

He flinches back when the curtain disappears. Seonghwa stands there, looking at him with no emotion at all. “Talk,” he says, the T and K extra sharp. 

“I just wanted to apologize,” Hongjoong starts. “I’m really sorry about, um. About—”

“About lying to Yeosang? About manipulating your way into a piece of information I expressly told you I wanted to keep to myself? Which part, exactly, are you sorry about?”

Seonghwa gets really eloquent when he’s angry. Like he’s on the debate team and wants to flay his opponent with his speech, each word carefully placed to inflict the most damage. Hongjoong recoils from the pressure of his eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he manages. “It was really shitty of me.” 

Seonghwa crosses his arms tightly. “Is there anything else you wanted to know about me? You already know pretty much everything, but maybe there’s some childhood trauma you want to unpack?” Hongjoong opens his mouth but Seonghwa cuts in again. “Just let me know this time. I can tell you so we don’t have to do the thing where I say no and you go behind my back to force it out.” 

“Seonghwa, I really, really am sorry,” Hongjoong feels like he’s close to crying. Fuck, that’s embarrassing, but Seonghwa’s never been this mad at him before. He fucking hates it, the way Seonghwa’s looking at him, the way he’s speaking to him. Hates it so much he wants to crumble onto the ground and hug Seonghwa’s legs so he can’t leave until they’re best friends again. “I’ll never do it again, I swear. I was just jealous, or something. I don’t know.”

“You were jealous?” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. 

It’s ten times better than the onslaught of harshly enunciated sentences. Hongjoong tries to muster his wits and not fuck up further. “Uh, yes? I was jealous that Yeosang got to know, and I didn’t.” It sounds so much dumber when he says it out loud. “I’m sorry, that’s really stupid.” 

Seonghwa exhales out a long breath. 

“It is really stupid.” 

Hongjoong gathers the courage to look up and he can barely _breathe_ because Seonghwa kind of looks like he’s smirking now. Or like, not quite a smirk, but amused, for sure. “That’s really fucking stupid, Joong,” he adds. 

“I know,” he groans, covering his face with his hands again. “I’m a clown.”

“Gonna buy you a big puffy red nose.” 

Hongjoong moves his hands away and wow, Seonghwa’s actually smizing at him now. “Oh my god,” he says, so relieved he might actually vomit. Or faint. “Are you not mad at me anymore?”

“I’m still mad, but less mad than before.” Seonghwa’s face gets serious. “Don’t do it again, though.”

“Never, I promise,” Hongjoong tells him, and holds up his pointer and index fingers twisted together. Scout’s honor. And then, because he can’t seem to shut up now that he’s gotten through the worst of it, “But, um, I still kinda don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me? Like, is it something I did?”

“No,” Seonghwa says after a beat. “No, I know you wouldn’t judge me, or anything like that. We just don’t really talk about that stuff,” he goes on, and now he sounds like he’s hesitating. “I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Oh.” 

Hongjoong’s relieved again. So it’s not some weird offensive thing he did to scare Seonghwa away from sharing things. It’s true, though, that they’re not constantly talking about sex with each other. Seonghwa’s right. They’ve always kind of danced around the subject, even when Seonghwa was in a relationship. 

Even when—and that was a memorable evening—Seonghwa walked in on him balls deep in some kid on the frisbee team and yelped, turning around immediately and never speaking about it thereafter. 

“Cool, so are we still on for the Bachelorette tomorrow night?” he asks. It’s their weekly tradition to watch it on Seonghwa’s laptop, bowl of popcorn set between them, snarking about the never-ending line of white dudes trying to win Miss Alabama’s heart. Hongjoong loves it more than anything. 

“Yeah, we’re on.” Seonghwa smiles at him then, a shadow of his real smile, but it’s enough that Hongjoong’s blood sings in his veins. “See you then.”

______

It’s only when they’re curled into each other the next night, laughing so hard Hongjoong’s stomach _aches_, that Hongjoong realizes how scared he was of losing this. Of losing the way Seonghwa snorts next to him, the oil from the popcorn making his lips shiny. 

He was so stupid to get so close to ruining it. 

At the commercial break he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little book he made. He pushes it into Seonghwa’s hand. 

“What’s this?” Seonghwa squints down at it, lips still turned up in a smile. “Park Seonghwa’s coupon book,” he reads, then looks up, smiling wider. “Joong, what is this?”

“Open it,” Hongjoong says, suddenly shy. It’s just a dumb thing he made to add to his apology, nothing special. 

“Learn the Dalla Dalla choreo.” Seonghwa turns the page. “Clean the microwave.” Turn. “Bring Seonghwa boba. Buy Seonghwa okonomiyaki.” He looks up and Hongjoong’s heart flips at his expression. “Joong, this is so cute, what the fuck.”

“They’re not very creative,” Hongjoong deflects. Inside he’s glowing warm, like a volcano. “But I just wanted to say sorry again. And make it up to you. More than once.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa tells him. The show’s started again, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice. He’s grinning at Hongjoong like he’s the first person to invent coupon books, or saying sorry, or making it up to people. 

His smile feels so good on Hongjoong’s skin, almost like a physical touch. Hongjoong tilts towards it like a plant towards the sun. 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Just shush and take the compliment.” Seonghwa tucks the book into his pocket with a careful hand. “Oh, it’s the rose ceremony already,” he says, turning back to the screen. 

Hongjoong misses the warmth of his gaze immediately, but this is almost as good. He snuggles down again, comfy in the soft sheets, and settles in for the end of the episode. All’s good, finally. 

Now he just has to forget about that fucking dildo.


	2. Chapter 2

He manages to keep it generally out of his brain for the next couple weeks. 

Everything’s great for those two weeks. He goes to at least 70% of his classes, even the ones before noon, and manages to eat a vegetable, like, every other day. And he and Seonghwa are still good. There’s no hint of weirdness between them, other than the usual sharp pull of attraction that Hongjoong has to suppress every time they’re in the same space. 

It’s all good and fine and then it goes to shit. 

Hongjoong wakes up at 8 a.m. on Thursday, just enough time to put on pants and comb his hair before his 8:30. Then he goes down to the third floor bathroom to brush his teeth and pee. When he gets there, though, it’s occupied. 

“Hey, can I come in for a minute?” he calls through the door. Sounds like the shower’s running. 

They have a deal that the door stays unlocked whenever someone’s in the shower. While this may be a blow to privacy, it’s so the others can come in and go about their business while the person bathes. It makes sharing two bathrooms among eight people a lot easier. Especially since a certain _someone_ likes to shower for close to half an hour every day. Seonghwa likes himself real clean. 

“Yeah, come in.” It’s Seonghwa’s voice that calls back over the sound of the running water. 

The bathroom smells like hot steam and roses when Hongjoong steps inside. 

“Hey, dude,” he says to the shower curtain, then grabs his toothbrush and gets to work. He needs to leave in the next five minutes if he’s gonna make it to class on time. 

“Joong, I told you not to call me dude.” 

“What about dude-hwa?” The words come out garbled around his toothbrush.

“How about no-hwa?” 

The sound of the shower ebbs and sloshes as Seonghwa moves around under the water. Hongjoong spits and wipes his mouth, then looks around for the cap of his toothbrush. He doesn’t see it anywhere on the sink. Maybe it rolled off? 

Fuck, he doesn’t have time for this. He turns around to see if it’s on the floor somewhere, and stops. 

Um. It’s not his toothpaste cap, but there’s a long, thin tan thing on the ground, near where the bathtub is. 

He takes a step closer and crouches down. 

Okay that’s a dildo. That’s definitely a dildo. 

He doesn’t know what else it could be, because it’s shaped like a _dick._ It even has a little circumcised mushroom head and raised veins along the sides. And there’s a fucking suction cup on the base of it, which Hongjoong is smart enough to know means you can use it without hands. Very practical, to be able to fuck yourself with no hands. 

His head swims. 

“Seonghwa,” he says hoarsely. “Seonghwa, I think your, um…”

“I can’t hear you, Joong.” Seonghwa turns the water off. “What?”

“I think your,” Hongjoong’s tongue feels heavy and numb. “Your, uh—”

Seonghwa’s head pops out, hands using the shower curtain to shield his body from view. His eyes go wide like saucers when they lock onto the dildo. “Oh shit. Sorry, it must have rolled out.” 

“No worries.” Hongjoong’s mouth is very dry, making his words stick in his throat. “Do you want me to, like, hand it to you?” 

“Yeah, if you could. It’s clean.” 

When Hongjoong picks up the dildo he can’t help but take a closer look at it, blinking against the dull heat of the steam. “It’s not as big as I thought it would be,” he says without thinking. And then, to add to the clusterfuck, “It looks kind of like mine.”

Seonghwa makes a sound like an aborted yelp. “It’s not exactly _small,_,” he chokes out. “Did you think I was shoving a horse cock up my ass?”

“Oh my _God,_, Seonghwa, I did not need to hear that.” Hongjoong squeezes his eyes shut.

Someone bangs on the door, startling them both. 

“Yo, I need to shower too,” San calls from behind the door. “Hurry the fuck up.” 

“Give me the fucking dildo,” Seonghwa hisses, gesturing wildly at him. Hongjoong gives him the fucking dildo. “I’m just gonna be a couple minutes,” Seonghwa calls back. 

“Fine, text me when you’re done. I’m making ramen.” There’s the sound of steps receding.

_It’s 8 a.m.,_ Hongjoong thinks, kind of disturbed. Okay, but no it’s not; it’s probably closer to 8:30 by now. And he’s almost definitely not going to make it to music theory. 

“Are you going to leave at some point?” Seonghwa asks him, still gripping the curtain tightly. His hair looks very good like that, wet and slicked back like an 80s movie star. “Because that would be great.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hongjoong scrambles to his feet. “Uh, sorry, about this?” 

Seonghwa stares at him. “It’s fine, just forget about it,” he mutters after a second. “I’ll see you later.” 

Hongjoong kind of wants to say, _you can’t be mad at me this time, I was minding my own business until I saw that damn thing,_ but instead he runs a hand through his hair and bites his tongue.

“See you,” he forces out, then flees out the door. 

He skips all his classes for the day and lays in bed. If he jerks off four times to solo vids of twinks fucking themselves with fake dicks, well, that’s his own business. 

The problem is, Hongjoong’s always had an overactive imagination. It’s not the best thing when combined with an addictive personality. So the fact that he’s _seen_ the dildo with his own two eyes makes it a lot harder to _not_ imagine Seonghwa lubing it up and pushing it into himself, ass burning around the stretch, like it would if Hongjoong—

“I need to get a fucking life,” Hongjoong groans into the pillow as his dick perks up for the umpteenth time. He ignores it resolutely, but there’s no denying it. 

He has a problem again. 

_______

“When are we leaving?” Wooyoung whines. His leg bounces on the ground where he sits on the couch. “We’re like, far past fashionably late at this point.”

“Chill, it’s only 11.” Yunho takes a shot of the last of the tequila and winces. 

“I should’ve gone with San and Mingi,” Wooyoung continues. “What if there’s no alcohol left when we get there? What if I end up _sober_?”

“It would not kill you to be sober for one night,” Hongjoong informs him. 

Wooyoung just groans and tips his head back. “YEOSANG,” he shouts in the direction of the stairs. “When are you gonna be done?”

“We’ll be down in just a sec,” Yeosang’s voice floats down. “Don’t leave. I’m almost done with him.”

It’s a breezy, balmy Saturday night and TXT is throwing the party tonight. Other than Wooyoung, none of them know the house members that well. But Wooyoung had plied him and Seonghwa with slice and bake cookies until they’d promised to come. 

Unsurprisingly, the sophomores (and Jongho) did not need much convincing to get in on free liquor in a dank basement.

The theme of the party is “Internet Culture.” Hongjoong has to admit it’s more creative than the usual themes, which can be anything from “beachy” to “cowboy.” Or the worst of them, “ABC” — anything but clothes.

Hongjoong dressed like an e-boy. Striped long-sleeved shirt layered under an oversized black graphic tee. A few chains around his neck; silver-studded black belt holding up skinny jeans of the same color. Oh, and converse, of course. It’s a good look, if a little hot for September. 

As soon as Yeosang found out about the theme, his eyes had gleamed and he’d looked at Seonghwa like he was a prize cut of meat. “I’m dressing Seonghwa,” he’d announced, and dragged him upstairs. 

That was at least a couple hours ago. Hongjoong hopes Seonghwa is still alive. Yeosang is scary when he has a _vision_. 

“Ta-da!” 

Yeosang steps into the room and turns to wave his hands at—

Hongjoong chokes on the sip of wine he’s just taken. 

Seonghwa is wearing—fuck. He’s wearing a _crop top_. He’s wearing a pink silk sleeveless crop top with straps so thin they’re barely visible on his shoulders. Hongjoong’s mouth hangs open, struck dumb, as his eyes lower to the black shorts that cinch high around Seonghwa’s tiny waist. The shorts cut off high on his upper thighs, too, revealing long, tanned legs that end in platform sandals. 

Oh, and Seonghwa has a black choker strung around his neck with a little pendant hanging off it. 

“He’s an insta thot,” Yeosang explains, smiling. 

Hongjoong can’t stop staring. He can’t stop staring. It’s so much. It’s too much. His brain feels like it’s short-circuited, smoking, unable to function. 

“Wow, Seonghwa, my dude,” Yunho crows, getting up and giving Seonghwa a slow once over. 

“Yeosang, you’re a fucking genius.” Wooyoung high fives him. “I never thought I’d want to fuck Seonghwa, but here we are.”

“I’d never fuck you in a million years,” Seonghwa shoots back. “Seriously though, it’s not too slutty?” he asks, eyes falling onto Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong’s tongue is stuck in his throat. He feels them all turn to look at him and tries to force himself to speak normally. “Uh, no, not too slutty at all. It’s, um, great. You look great.”

“That was convincing,” Seonghwa says. His eyes flick down Hongjoong’s body. “You’re wearing a lot of clothes.”

“I’m an e-boy.” 

Seonghwa hums, gaze lingering on his outfit, and Hongjoong feels like he’s going to spark and burst, like a microwave with a fork in it. 

“What’re you?” Wooyoung turns to Yeosang, breaking the moment. 

Yeosang’s wearing a pair of bright aquamarine leggings and a matching sports bra, hair pushed back by a headband. He must be wearing a cup or something because it’s impossible to distinguish his dick from his balls, even with how tight the leggings are. “I’m a fitness influencer,” he answers, then glances between Wooyoung and Yunho. “What are you guys?”

“We’re soundcloud rappers,” Yunho says cheerily. They’re both just wearing jeans and plain black tees. 

Yeosang is saved from comment by Wooyoung, who claps his hands. “Enough discussion, people, let’s go!”

_____

The party is _torture._

Only an hour after they get there, San and Yunho get a hand on the playlist and start doing dance covers of k-pop hits. Hongjoong would usually find this very funny, especially since he’s a solid six out of ten on the intoxication scale. 

But it’s very not funny when Seonghwa is dragged over to do the choreo for La Vie En Rose. It’s the opposite of fucking funny the way he swivels his narrow hips like that, and Hongjoong is standing at just the right angle to get an unblocked view of his ass in those shorts as he dances.

“Seonghwa, do sexy baby shark,” San shouts when the song ends. 

The crowd whoops and hollers. ATEEZ’s voices are loudest among them. “Come on, you got this,” Mingi calls out. 

“God, fine.” Seonghwa stands in the middle until the stupid shark song comes on. He’s done this before, even if he doesn’t agree to it every time the house begs for it, which is constantly. They’re all whipped for sexy baby shark. No one can do it quite like Seonghwa. 

“Baby shark doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo,” the crowd sings along as Seonghwa starts to gyrate to the beat. 

Did Hongjoong mention the party was torture? 

Seonghwa doesn’t even look like he’s sweating, even though the space is boiling hot with all the bodies and lack of AC. Hongjoong, on the other hand, is damp with sweat, and not just from the clothes. 

La Vie En Rose gave him the beginnings of a boner, but now sexy baby shark is turning it into a full on erection. 

It’s humiliating as fuck, the fact that he’s hard from watching his best friend do body rolls to a kids’ song. But at least it’s well hidden under his dark jeans, and the basement is dim and hazy. He reaches down and adjusts his dick with a careful hand. No one will know of his shame, that’s the important thing. Especially not Seonghwa. 

The only good thing about baby shark is how short it is. Seonghwa finishes his last move and ends in an elegant bow, dipping his head to the audience. 

“Yes, Seonghwa, baby shark king,” Wooyoung cheers. 

“That’s my housemate,” Mingi shouts to the crowd. “I know him!”

“I’ve never seen this man in my life,” Seonghwa says. Then he walks over to Hongjoong, takes his drink out of his hand and downs it in one gulp. 

“Uh, that was mine,” Hongjoong tells him when he places the empty cup back in his hand. 

“I can’t believe I’m 21 years old and all I have to my name is sexy baby shark.” Seonghwa's voice is raised over the beat of the music. 

“You have a lot more to your name than that,” Hongjoong reassures him. “You have like, a 3.7 GPA. And you took that picture of the mating snails that went viral on Twitter.”

“That’s really all you could come up with?” Seonghwa smirks at him. “Thought my cooking would at least get an honorable mention.”

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about that. I’m hungry.” He’s really hungry, actually. He’d forgotten to eat before starting to pregame with Wooyoung and Yunho. The last thing he ate was an underripe banana at four o’clock, when he woke up from his nap. 

“You wanna get out of here?” 

It sounds like a come on, but he knows Seonghwa doesn’t mean it like that. Still, Hongjoong takes a second to imagine if it was. If Seonghwa was some random, beautiful guy who came up to him, leaned into his ear and asked him to come back to his place. 

He shivers, blinking away the image. “Yeah, let’s bounce.”

They end up at the 24 hour diner on the commercial strip near campus. 

“Oh, you two are the cutest couple,” their waitress squeals, cocking a hip as she looks them over. “Like Danny and Patty from Grease. But you’re too young to know that movie, I bet.” 

“Uh, thanks,” Hongjoong says, and knows he’s blushing. He doesn’t feel like it would do much good to explain the concepts behind their outfits to this woman, nor to explain that he and Seonghwa are _not_ a couple, in any sense of the word. 

They order the usual—chocolate chip pancakes for Hongjoong; a burger for Seonghwa. The food comes out quick, thank God, and Hongjoong digs in with relish. He slathers syrup all over the pancakes and cuts huge bites with his fork and knife, wishing he could throw propriety to wind and pick them up with his hands. But Seonghwa would literally walk out of the diner if he did that, so he doesn’t. 

He finishes before Seonghwa and watches him take slow, measured bites of his burger. 

“You have something, uh,” Hongjoong gestures to the side of his own mouth. 

“Ketchup?” Seonghwa sticks out his tongue and feels around for it. 

“Um, no, it’s more to the right.” Hongjoong can’t stand watching Seonghwa wiggle his tongue around like that, so he reaches over and swipes the goop of ketchup away with his thumb. Then he draws back and wipes the little red blob on his napkin, feeling his face heat. “There you go.” 

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says after a beat. He sets his burger down, half-finished, and takes a long drink of water. “So what’d you think of TXT?” he asks. 

Hongjoong shrugs. “It was fun. Pretty average, I guess.”

“Soyeon was staring at you the whole time,” Seonghwa tells him. His finger traces the rim of his water glass. “You didn’t want to try to get with her?”

“I—didn’t notice,” Hongjoong says honestly. He tries to think back, but he doesn’t remember anything except the push and pull of people and the sinful little swirls of Seonghwa’s hips. He shakes his head. “Not really interested, though.” 

“You haven’t hooked up with anyone in forever.” There’s a question in Seonghwa’s voice. 

“Yes, I’m actually aware, thanks.” He’s not sure exactly why his lack of action is being brought up. “And you’re one to talk. You haven’t gone on a single date since Akirah left. Are you still not over it?”

Hongjoong had offered to talk about it when they broke up, but Seonghwa had just waved it off and asked if they could watch the Princess Bride. Add romance to the list of subjects they dance around, after sex. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.” Seonghwa pushes at his unfinished burger with a finger. 

Satisfaction blooms through Hongjoong. Then he feels bad. _You’re really out here wishing your friend stays sad and single forever, just so you can continue to pine after him like the worst fucking coward?_

Yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. 

“You could still hook up with someone,” Hongjoong says, like he wants to twist the knife in his stomach until he dies from blood loss. Masochism, his old friend. “You know everyone on campus wants to fuck you. You have that whole mysterious, yet sexy vibe. Like a vampire.” 

“Thanks, I guess?” Seonghwa takes another sip of water. “Got that area covered pretty well by myself, though.”

Hongjoong flushes pink, mind going straight to the dildo. When Seonghwa takes a look at him he must realize exactly what Hongjoong’s thinking about. Hongjoong’s never been able to keep his thoughts off his damn face. 

“I just meant—”

“How’re we doing?” The waitress appears, smiling. “Need anything else?”

Hongjoong’s heart sags in relief. “No, thanks,” he tells her. “Just the check when you get the chance.” 

“Sure thing.” She scribbles something on her pad and tears off a page, putting it on the table. “You can pay at the front. Enjoy your evening, sweethearts.” She gives them a wink before walking off. 

Seonghwa insists on paying when they get to the front. Hongjoong resists for a minute or two for the sake of his dignity, but surrenders in the end. Secretly he’s biting the inside of his cheek, heart flatlined by the cuteness of it. Even if Seonghwa’s just being nice. 

It’s fun to pretend, sometimes. 

______

“What’re you in the mood for?” 

They’re stretched out on Hongjoong’s bed, scrolling through Netflix. Hongjoong feels full and happy from the pancakes. He’s comfy, too, now that he’s changed out of his e-boy attire into boxers and a loose t-shirt. He’s also comfy mentally, because Seonghwa’s legs and shoulders and stomach are covered with pajamas. Small mercies. 

“Anything, I don’t care.” Hongjoong lolls his head back on the pillow, feeling lazy. 

“What about this?” Seonghwa scrolls over a movie called Duck Butter. “It’s gay.”

“Well if it’s gay, I’m down as fuck.” 

“Nothing if not predictable.” Seonghwa clicks play and settles back on the pillow. 

He realizes twenty minutes in that he may have made a mistake not investigating this movie before giving his blessing. It’s gay, yes, very gay—that’s the problem. The two main characters just started _going_ at it in the first ten minutes and haven’t stopped since. They’ve fucked each other in more positions than Hongjoong could even imagine. 

The sex is the plot, basically. The two women are together and make a pact to have sex continuously throughout a 24 hour period. In all other universes, Hongjoong would be all for it. He’d cheer, even. 

But not when he’s half-hard and Seonghwa’s feet away. He grabs a pillow and covers his boner as one of the women starts rimming the other. The sound of moans and slurping is clear even through the laptop’s tinny speakers, and Hongjoong’s feeling hot all over, kind of jittery, too. 

“Uh, so this is awkward,” he mumbles, because the silence is excruciating. 

“What’s awkward?” Seonghwa looks at him, then down at the pillow. “Are you seriously hard?” 

“How could I not be,” Hongjoong whines, cheeks flaming. “They’ve literally just been fucking for thirty minutes, oh my god.”

Seonghwa snorts. “It’s not their fault you’re sexually unsatisfied. Can you just jerk off and let me watch this in peace, please?”

He must have misheard that. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“I said, just jerk off so I can watch this in peace.” Seonghwa shrugs, eyes on the screen. “It’s not a big deal. San and Wooyoung do it all the time. All of them do, probably.”

“San and Wooyoung do what now?” Hongjoong sits up, staring at Seonghwa’s side profile. 

Seonghwa doesn’t look back, eyes intent on how the women are now rubbing against each other with frantic thrusts of their hips. “I guess this is kind of hot, actually,” he concedes. Then he glances at Hongjoong. “We can do it at the same time, if that’s better.”

_Um, what the actual fuck._ Hongjoong’s mouth gapes open, dumb with shock. 

“Are you still drunk?” he manages to ask. “You’re suggesting we masturbate next to each other,” he adds, slowly, just to make sure he’s getting this right. This has to be a dream. He’s gonna wake up as soon as he agrees to this. 

Seonghwa shrugs. “San and Wooyoung do it, I told you. It’s not a big deal. If we’re both hard, why not?”

It sounds so logical when he says it like that. Like they’re just two friends with erections they need to deal with. Jerking off on the same bed. Sharing a laptop because Hongjoong’s too poor to get his fixed. Normal stuff.

“Uh.” Hongjoong swallows past the dryness in his throat. “Okay?”

Seonghwa barely glances at him. “Cool,” he says, and pushes his pajama pants down. 

_I’m dying_, Hongjoong thinks hysterically. Seonghwa’s cock is right there. Seonghwa’s cock is semi-hard, circumsized, and about the size of his own. It’s so pretty, Hongjoong wants to die if he’s not dead already. He wants to see it fill out to full hardness and stand against Seonghwa’s belly. He wants to see the head leak precome. He wants to—

“Are you gonna start or just stare at me?” Seonghwa interrupts him. He’s still not looking at Hongjoong, gaze on the screen. 

Hongjoong wonders how he can be so blase about this. How he can take out his dick like that and jack off while Hongjoong’s right _there_, like they haven’t been friends for nearly three years. 

“Uh, I—yeah. Okay.” Hongjoong pushes his boxers down to free his dick. 

He feels Seonghwa turn his head and bites his lip so hard, because he _knows_ Seonghwa’s eyes are on his penis and he’s so fucking hard it hurts, even without having touched himself. He sees Seonghwa’s arm start to move up and down beside him, and that’s. Yeah, that’s really hot. Even if he can’t look at it directly. Just knowing Seonghwa’s next to him, fucking his hand, is enough for Hongjoong’s dick to swell even more. 

“Is this still good? We could put something else on if you want.” Seonghwa’s voice is breathier than normal.

“Sure, whatever—whatever you prefer.” Hongjoong still can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s too turned on to care, though, and starts to stroke himself as Seonghwa reaches down to pause the movie and open a new tab. 

When he leans back, the screen shows a pornhub video of two guys fucking on a table. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says. He spits quietly into his hand and mixes the saliva with his precome. Then he fucks the wet head of his dick with his curved palm, stifling a groan at how good it feels. 

He flicks his eyes to Seonghwa’s crotch, where his dick has fattened up fully. Breath caught in his throat, he watches the long, slow pace of Seongwa’s strokes, hand dragging the skin of his cock with every movement. 

On the screen, the guy bottoming shrieks as the other man slams into him from behind, shoving him into the table. 

Hongjoong thinks of something, suddenly. “You could use the dildo if you wanted,” he offers, and cringes at how uneven his voice comes out. 

“You’re obsessed with that thing,” Seonghwa responds after a moment. The bottom switches to cowboy and sinks down on the other guy’s cock, throwing his head back and moaning. “Are you sure you don’t want to use it yourself? Thought you said you didn’t like bottoming.”

“I don’t. I just,” Hongjoong hesitates, letting his hand go still as he licks his lips. “I just can’t stop thinking about you using it,” he admits, and squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. 

It’s quiet for a bit and then the bed shifts as Seonghwa moves off it. Hongjoong hears the sound of footsteps, and when he opens his eyes, he has a second to panic, his cock wilting. _Oh fuck, I fucked it up. I made it weird, oh fucking—_

Then Seonghwa pushes back into the room carrying the dildo. 

He pauses to look at Hongjoong before he gets back on the bed, and Hongjoong’s dick twitches under his eyes like it’s not sure if it wants to get harder or go soft. Hongjoong is sure his entire body is flushed red underneath his shirt. _Why are you looking at me like that?_ he wants to ask. Seonghwa’s expression is impenetrable. 

Then the bed dips as Seonghwa lays back down, and it’s back to normal. As far as normal can be when they’re watching porn and masturbating next to each other. Hongjoong must be losing his mind. 

He jerks off slowly for the next couple minutes as Seonghwa fingers himself, hand moving between his cheeks. He’s making these little breathy sounds, like pants of air, as he scissors his fingers into his ass. 

God, Hongjoong’s so fucking hard again. He has to dig a thumb into the head of his dick to keep from getting too close to orgasm. 

“I’m putting it in now,” Seonghwa tells him after a while. “You can watch if you want.”

Hongjoong almost laughs. If he _wants._

He props himself on an elbow and looks over. Fucking—Christ, that’s incredible. Seonghwa’s pajama pants are gone. He’s got one hand curled around his cock as the other pushes the dildo in, slow but sure, disappearing inside him inch by inch. Hongjoong watches as his eyes slip shut, bottom lip caught in his teeth. It must feel really good, the way his face looks. 

Seonghwa starts to jerk himself off and fuck himself with the dildo at the same time, and Hongjoong’s breath stutters. He’s never seen anything like it in his entire life. 

“Is it hard, with two hands?” he asks after a minute. It looks kind of difficult to jerk off right while maintaining a steady rhythm with the dildo. 

“Do you want to help?” Seonghwa grits out. 

“I—”

Seonghwa takes his hand off the dildo. “It’s easy,” he says, slightly winded. “Just like fucking.”

Like that’s supposed to make it easier. Hongjoong has to sit up and lean over Seonghwa to grip the base of the dildo. When he pushes it in, Seonghwa’s eyes fall shut again. “Yeah, just like that,” he says, like a sigh. 

Hongjoong moves the dildo in measured pulses. His eyes are stuck on where it’s opening Seonghwa up, sliding in and out of his hole. It sounds like fucking. It doesn’t feel like two people jerking off next to each other for the sake of convenience. Hongjoong’s glad he only has his left hand to jerk himself off, because he thinks he’d come immediately if he could fuck his hand the way he likes it. 

When he looks away from the dildo, Seonghwa’s staring at his face. “Is this right?” he asks, unsure what Seonghwa’s expression means. “Do you want me to go faster, slower?”

“Faster would be good.” Seonghwa groans as Hongjoong speeds up his hand, fucking the dildo into him with rapid, controlled movements. 

Then, too sudden for Hongjoong to react, he reaches down and bats Hongjoong’s hand away from his dick, replacing it with his own. His hand wraps around Hongjoong’s cock like he owns it. “Is this right?” he mimics Hongjoong, and that really shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, the way Seonghwa’s mocking him like that. “Do you want me to go _faster_?” 

“Oh my god,” Hongjoong stares at where Seonghwa’s long fingers curl around him, stroking him roughly, so good it makes his head spin. It’s too much. He feels Seonghwa’s eyes, hot on his face, as he bucks into his hand. “Oh fuck I’m—”

He comes onto the side of Seonghwa’s shirt with a gasp, whole body trembling with the force of his orgasm. When he’s done, he stares down at the mess of semen staining the pajama top and feels panic bubble in his chest. 

“I am so sorry,” he gasps. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Joong, shut up.” The words are taut, like Seonghwa’s voice is stretched to the breaking point. “I want to come.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hongjoong sucks in a breath and reaches down for the dildo. He tries to go as fast as he can, watching Seonghwa’s face for clues about what feels good. The slick movements of the toy are so loud as it slaps into his hole. It sounds just like it would if he was being fucked by a cock. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect, keep doing that.” Hongjoong feels something quiver inside him at the praise. His hand is close to cramping, but he keeps it steady, watching how Seonghwa’s teeth dig into his lip as he strokes his dick. “Keep doing it just like that, Joong, so good—_ah_,” his hips jerk up as he comes, shooting onto his hand and stomach. 

Hongjoong’s dick spasms at the sight, trying weakly to get hard again. 

When Seongha recovers, his eyes find Hongjoong’s. They look at each other for a long moment. 

“Um, so that was…” Hongjoong trails off into silence. He can’t read Seonghwa’s face. 

“Good, I hope.” Seonghwa breaks his gaze away to reach over and grab a couple tissues. He wipes his hand off. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyes on his shirt as he dabs at the come there. 

Hongjoong thinks about making a joke. _I just ejaculated all over you, I’m fucking splendid._ “Yeah, I’m fine. You’re right, it wasn’t weird,” he lies. 

Seonghwa looks up and searches his face. “It wasn’t?”

“No, I mean,” Hongjoong flails around for the right words. “It felt, like, normal, you know? Not a big deal, like you said. San and Wooyoung.” 

“San and Wooyoung,” Seonghwa repeats slowly. 

“Yeah.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes feel like a scalpel, the way they’re digging into him. 

_If you don’t fucking pull it together,_ he hisses to himself, _he’s gonna realize you want way more from him than a fucking drunk bro-job, and run away screaming._

“Thanks for the helping hand,” he says, using the last of his brain cells to force his tone into something normal. “What are friends for?” His smile feels wobbly.

He thinks he sees something flash in Seonghwa’s eyes. Something dark and pained, like someone just kicked him in the stomach. But it’s gone in the next second, leaving Hongjoong to wonder if he just imagined it. 

Seonghwa wipes a hand over his face and gets out of the bed. “I’m going to shower,” he says. 

“Oh. Okay.” 

_You said the wrong thing, dumbass._ Hongjoong stares at his back as he walks away. _You better hope to God he forgets about this._


	3. Chapter 3

Hongjoong always forgets how cute San looks in his barista uniform. 

“What do you want?” San looks at him and Wooyoung, hands on his hips. “And do not say—”

“The usual,” Wooyoung answers, grinning. 

“I’m not making you a fucking triple shot espresso, Wooyoung. It’s nearly five p.m.” San shakes his head. “Joong, tell him he needs to sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak?” Hongjoong offers. 

Another head shake, this time with eye rolling. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be any help.” 

“What about a double shot?” Wooyoung counters. “I’ve had, like, one cup today. I’m running on empty, man.”

San sighs like a love interest in a Jane Austen novel. “_Fine._ Joong, what about you?”

Personally, Hongjoong could give a shit if it was five p.m or five a.m. “Americano, please.” 

“Don’t spit in mine this time,” Wooyoung adds. “I consume enough of your bodily fluids as it is.”

San pauses where he’s ringing up their orders and gives Wooyoung a sincerely terrifying glare. Then, to Hongjoong: “He’s just kidding. Ignore him.” 

“Uh…” Hongjoong looks between them. _San and Wooyoung do it all the time,_ he remembers, but that was just supposed to be _masturbating._ No mention of the consumption of bodily fluids. He decides it’s safer not to get into it. “Okay.”

When their drinks are ready, they stake out an empty table near the windows. Wooyoung takes a huge gulp of his espresso and closes his eyes in satisfaction. “Ah, that’s the good shit.” 

“You know, maybe San’s right,” Hongjoong says, with some concern. “You look like an addict.”

Wooyoung waves a hand. “Addict, shmaddict. So,” he continues, reaching into his bag to pull out his phone charger, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, um.” Hongjoong fidgets, drumming his fingers on the table. He feels kind of nervous, even though he was the one who asked Wooyoung for this little sit-down. Maybe it’s because he feels like putting the problem into words will make it real, somehow. Will make it something he actually has to address. “It’s about me and S—”

“Oh, yo,” Wooyoung cuts him off, eyes going wide as he looks somewhere behind Hongjoong. “Seonghwa, over here,” he shouts, and waves both his hands. 

Hongjoong’s blood turns to ice. _Oh please no,_ he begs God, or the divine force, or whatever might be listening. _No, please do not—_

“Hey.” 

Hongjoong turns his head to look up and yeah, that’s Park Seonghwa. Looking down at him and Wooyoung like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he hasn’t been acting like Hongjoong doesn’t fucking _exist_ for three whole weeks. “What’s up,” Seonghwa continues, shifting the strap of his backpack where it’s slung over one shoulder. 

Seonghwa makes even wearing a backpack look elegant. What the fuck. Hongjoong would be furious if it wasn’t for how he’s frozen in his seat, cold and clammy like a corpse. 

“Come sit with us.” Wooyoung gestures to the third chair at the table. “Joong was just about to spill some hot tea.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa only glances at him for a moment, but even the brief touch of his eyes is enough to make Hongjoong’s stomach do somersaults. Then he looks back at Wooyoung. “I would, but I’m working on a group project.” 

“Oh, boo.” Wooyoung pouts. “Good luck, I guess.”

“Good luck,” Hongjoong echoes, when he realizes he’s been silent for too long. It comes out kind of choked, but he tries to play it off with a cough. 

“Thanks.” Seonghwa’s eyes brush over Hongjoong again, expression unreadable, before he looks away. “See you later.” 

When he’s gone, Hongjoong tries to calm himself. He knows it’s a lost cause. His entire being is attuned to Seonghwa’s proximity, like some kind of base instinct that tells his heart to thump and his breath to speed up whenever Seonghwa’s around him. 

_Can you slow down, please?_ he asks his heartbeat. _It’s not the fucking Kentucky Derby. Jesus._

At least Seonghwa had looked at him. That’s more than he usually gets, these days. 

Wooyoung takes a long swallow of his coffee. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Uh, so." Hongjoong stares at the table. Why did he think this was a good idea again? Oh, yes, because he's losing his goddamn mind and he'll take any help he can get. Even if he's 50-75% afraid Wooyoung will be more of a danger than a help.

This time, Wooyoung gargles the coffee like a caveman before swallowing. “That was a great start, bro.” 

"I’m thinking,” he retorts. “Okay. So, um.” Someone's scribbled _prof stein can fuck me raw_ on the fake wood of the tabletop. _No, focus._ "Seonghwa and I may have. Possibly. Um. Hooked up?" The last words come out meek and small. 

Wooyoung's mouth drops open in a comic O. "Stop," he hisses. "Oh my fucking God, when?"

"Do you remember the TXT internet party?" 

"Uh, yeah." Wooyoung tilts his head. "That was what, a couple weeks ago?"

_Nineteen days._ Not that anyone's counting or anything. "Yeah," Hongjoong says. His hands twist under the table. 

"So was it good?" Wooyoung leans forward, eyes alight with anticipation. "It was mind-blowing, wasn't it? Like, the dick was so good it killed you and this is your ghost talking to me, kind of good?"

Hongjoong gives him a weak smile. "Uh, not exactly."

Wooyoung frowns. "What do you mean, not exactly? I cannot imagine someone as repressed as Seonghwa not having a bomb ass dick game. All that cleaning?" He shakes his head. "Man wants to scrub _something_, and it isn't the floor, if you know what I mean."

"That makes absolutely no sense." Hongjoong’s used to Wooyoung's weirdness, and doesn't let himself get distracted from his true purpose. "But,” he goes on, face hot, “the quality wasn't the issue.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wooyoung takes another sip of his drink. "Okay," he says slowly. "What was the issue?"

This is it. This is the moment. _Get it off your chest, please, I’m begging you_. "I may have maybe, possibly, made it obvious that I liked it too much. In a creepy way." 

Wooyoung frowns again. "Give me more context."

He breathes out in a big whoosh. "It was just, y'know. I wasn't expecting it, but after we got back from the party, he brought up that we should, like, jerk off together." He conveniently leaves out the part where Seonghwa mentioned Wooyoung and San. That would just complicate things. He also decides the part about the dildo would complicate things, in the way that Seonghwa would put him in an early grave if he ever found out Hongjoong told anyone about it. "So we did. But it ended up being more of a mutual touching thing than a solo thing." 

Wooyoung taps a hand against his cup and stares at Hongjoong for so long that Hongjoong starts to get antsy. "It sounds like you were both into it," he says finally. "Why do you think you were being creepy?" 

"Because it was supposed to be a casual thing," Hongjoong lets some of his stress bleed into the words. "Like a one-off, just for kicks. Not anything _significant_. But I think he could tell I wanted it to be more than that. Like, I was really, really into it, Wooyoung."

"What's the problem with that, though?" Wooyoung prods. "He was the one who suggested it, right?" 

"Yeah, b—"

"And he asked you to touch him, right?"

_Do you want to help?_ Hongjoong shivers. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

"So?" Wooyoung leans back and spreads his hands. "Why do you think you did some huge bad thing by enjoying it too?" 

"Because he hasn't spoken to me since then," Hongjoong bursts out, the words sharp and shaky. He drops his head into his hands. "And I don't know what I did except that," he whispers to the table, despair rising through him like a tidal wave. 

After a second he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Joong.” The hand shakes him lightly. "Hongjoong." 

When he looks up Wooyoung's expression is almost contrite. "I'm sorry for not taking it seriously,” Wooyoung says, and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn't even notice, my bad."

Hongjoong huffs out a sigh. "'Sokay. I'm sorry for dropping it onto you."

"But, wow." Wooyoung rubs the back of his neck. "He's really just ignoring you? You guys are like inseparable."

Hongjoong hadn't really started to freak out until two whole days passed and Seonghwa hadn't texted him. A few days after that Seonghwa had disappeared to visit relatives in New York for the weekend, which gave him some plausible deniability, but Hongjoong knew by then that something was up. He knew he was being Avoided. 

Seonghwa was never in his room. He was always studying, but no one seemed to know where. A few times, Hongjoong had risked a _what's up?_ text, but it yielded nothing but _studying_ or _pretty busy_. To make sure he wasn't imagining things, he shared a couple memes on Instagram and Twitter. Seonghwa left him on read. 

Each time he tried, Seonghwa's lack of response shoved the handle of the knife deeper into him, until he was bleeding all the time, a constant, low-level drip of anxiety and stress. 

He'd let the Bachelorette slip by without comment and got bubble tea with Yunho, watched fancams with San and spent what was, even for him, a fuck-ton of time in the music labs. He spent the rest of his time in his room, listless and sad. Sometimes he'd stay up late and listen for the sound of Seonghwa's footsteps on the stairs, but he never heard anything but little pitter-patters that meant the house probably had mice.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he heard Seonghwa. He hasn't thought that through. Jump out of bed and accost him, like the ghost of a spurned lover? That would go over well. 

Maybe he keeps listening because imagining this as their new reality makes him want to throw up. Imagining that, after all this time, this is just _it_. That from now on they'll dance around each other from a distance, exchange uncomfortable nods at graduation and never see each other again. 

Or, maybe, Seonghwa will invite him to his wedding because the rest of the house is coming and it would be awkward not to, and Hongjoong has to watch him look at his partner with that pained but fond expression he wears with Hongjoong sometimes, the one that makes Hongjoong tingle all over with warmth. 

He can't accept it, not yet. It’s _Seonghwa_, for fuck’s sake. Seonghwa is non-negotiable. If Hongjoong’s body was a Jenga game, Seonghwa would be the block that, when removed, makes everything fall to pieces. Hongjoong’s pretty sure that if he was split open the inside of him would read _Park Seonghwa’s best friend_. He can’t lose Seonghwa over something as fucking stupid as him not being able to control his dumb crush. And his dick. 

Cue: Wooyoung.

"I don't know what to do," he confesses. "He's just completely unresponsive to anything I try." 

"Have you thought about talking to him?" Wooyoung asks, chin in hand. 

"I, um." Hongjoong feels himself flush. "I've been kind of hoping he'd snap out of it before I had to. I'm not really good at that kind of thing."

"You, bad at emotional confrontations?" Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow. "But seriously, you might want to try it. It's worked for, uh," he pauses and if Hongjoong wasn't looking closely, he might've missed the quick flick of Wooyoung's eyes toward the cash register. "It's worked pretty well for me."

One day Hongjoong will force this out of him, this thing between him and San. But today's not that day. "You're right," he says, and tips his head back in frustration. "God, I wish I weren't such a coward."

"Take some time.” Wooyoung’s voice is gentle. "If it makes you feel any better, though, I don't think this is as bad as it seems. Fucking your friends is never casual. Maybe he's just processing the gravity of it, just like you."

Hongjoong feels some of his nerves flow out of him when he breathes out. ""Thanks, dude. I'll think about the talking thing."

Wooyoung nods and hums. Then, fidgeting with his cup, he says, "Not to be emo, but it means a lot that you'd talk to me about this. It's good to, you know, have someone to share this stuff with. Seonghwa's been that person for me a lot. Not that you aren't too," he adds, kind of guilty. "He's a really good listener."

_Seonghwa’s been that person for me._ That makes a lot of sense. Hongjoong imagines Seonghwa trying to advise Wooyoung on his sex life with San and feels the faint stir of a smile for the first time in a while. "Wish I could be a fly on that wall."

"Voyeurism, not what I expected, Mr. Kim." Wooyoung drains his drink. "Shall we depart?"

Hongjoong looks at his watch. "Yeah, shit, I should eat something before class. Haven't eaten anything today." 

"You need a mother, Joong." Wooyoung waves to San as they walk out into the fresh air.

_That's what Seonghwa's for,_ Hongjoong thinks. Seonghwa's the one who reminds him to eat, and gives him Advil when he has caffeine withdrawal headaches, and massages his neck when he sleeps on it wrong. 

God, he takes Seonghwa for granted so much it's not even funny. _Now look where that's got you. Good fucking job._

It's fine. He'll figure out what to say, eventually, and it'll all be fine. Like before.

__________

The next day is Friday, and Hongjoong decides he’ll give himself one night to get smashed before tackling the “talking.” 

He deserves it, is his reasoning. It’s been nearly three weeks of trudging through life like a sad, abandoned puppy. He’ll fuck himself up (a little) tonight, and then he’ll try to corner Seonghwa tomorrow. He’ll figure out what to say then too. 

Foolproof plan. Cowardice _slaps_.

ATEEZ gathers in the kitchen that night, summoned by the call of Yunho and his six pack of crappy beer. 

“How’d you score this?” Mingi asks. He grabs a bottle and starts smacking the top on the table in lieu of using a bottle opener. _Heathens_, Hongjoong thinks, for the thousandth time. 

“My cousin,” Yunho explains. “It’s time to find new resources, now that Seonghwa has abandoned our needs.”

What he means is that Seonghwa is the only one who’s 21, so the grand honor of buying the house’s alcohol usually falls to him. But he’s been so checked out, the house has become practically dry in the past few weeks. Hongjoong is worried for the sanity of the underclassmen. He’s also conveniently ignoring how Seonghwa’s absence has affected _his_ sanity. 

“Where is Seonghwa, anyway?” San pipes up. “He’s been MIA for, like, ever.”

Wooyoung throws Hongjoong a quick glance. “He’s swamped right now,” he says to the group. “Midterms and shit.” 

“Don’t say the fucking M-word,” Mingi whines. He’s already halfway down with his beer, and he slumps against the table. “This night is to forget, okay?”

Six beers are enough for all of them, since Yeosang’s away for the weekend. It’s enough to get them a little buzzed, even if it’s nowhere near where Hongjoong wants to be. He’s not hopeful that this house party on the edge of campus will be any fun without at least a couple more drinks in him. Make that three more drinks, if Seonghwa’s not coming. He can go wild, then. 

“Let’s goooo,” San says after they’re all ready, and Wooyoung’s come back from his last bathroom primp. “Party time.”

____

Hongjoong was right. It’s really not that fun at all when they get there. The smell of weed and unwashed bodies combine to make the house smell like—well, like a frat house, and there’s already a ton of people there when they arrive. He walks past a couple making out in front of the fridge and can’t stop himself from making a face in their direction. 

“Yeah!” Mingi claps one of them on the back as he passes them.

As soon as Hongjoong gets down to the bottom of the basement stairs, some guy spills a drink all over him. “Sorry dude,” he slurs at Hongjoong, then wipes a hand over the mess on his shirt. 

_Are you fucking serious._ Hongjoong gives him a grimace and pushes past him to follow the rest of the house. 

An hour later, and whoever’s in charge of the music is still playing only EDM. Which is like, fine, if they were passing around ecstasy in Ibiza, but it doesn’t hit the same in a space that’s the size of a freshman dorm room and smells like moldy cement. Hongjoong kind of hopes San and Mingi steal the aux cord again, because he’d prefer Zayn or even Big Bang to this shit. It’s alright, though. He isn’t really here for the music, anyways. 

Speaking of what he’s really here for—Yunho pushes a red solo cup into his hand with a red-cheeked smile. “Bottoms up,” he tells Hongjoong, clinking their cups together, and Hongjoong takes a big gulp of the nasty liquid. He sloshes it around in his mouth before swallowing. It’s maybe 80 percent vodka, remainder orange juice. Just what the doctor ordered.

He’s finished his first drink and is working on a second when Soyeon approaches him from the side. “Hey, you,” she says, tugging on his sleeve. She’s holding a drink, too, and Hongjoong can tell she’s had a fair amount already by the glassiness in her eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. He likes Soyeon. She’s got sick taste in music and is just as obsessed with production as he is. “You enjoying yourself?” 

“Would be more if you’d dance with me.” The hand on his sleeve is still there, holding his elbow. She pulls at him. “Come on, this is the best song they’ve played all night.”

Hongjoong hesitates. It’s not like she propositioned him or anything, but he doesn’t want to give her the wrong idea if she’s looking to go farther than dancing. He doesn’t think he’s wrong to assume that might be the case, the way her fingers squeeze his arm, her eyes fixed intently on his face. 

_Why don’t you let her?_ he asks himself suddenly, frustration from the whole fucking mess with Seonghwa bubbling and bursting. _Why can’t you just be with someone who actually wants you, for once?_

But he doesn’t want to. That’s the heart of the problem. He doesn’t want anyone but Seonghwa. He doesn’t even wish that he wanted someone other than Seonghwa. Seonghwa is his planet, and Hongjoong’s stuck in his orbit like some tiny, cracked gray moon, fully fucking incapable of untangling himself from Seonghwa’s pull. 

“Yeah, okay,” he concedes. “Let’s dance.” 

_It’ll be fun,_ he tells himself as she pulls him closer, away from the other house members. _It’ll just be fun to dance, and then I’ll go home._

Soyeon’s a good dancer, even (especially) drunk. She’s got a smooth twist to her hips, the unmistakable sign of good rhythm. She’s fun to dance with, too; isn’t afraid to laugh at herself when she spills her drink a little or bumps into someone’s ass. 

The next song has more of a hip hop beat. “I love this song,” Soyeon leans over to shout in his ear. 

Hongjoong grins back. He kind of can’t believe it, but he’s actually having fun. And, more incredibly, he’s managed to forget about Seonghwa for more than a few minutes. 

The vodka thrums through him, and he knows he’s punch-drunk, feeling the beat of the music in his chest. 

Then Soyeon turns around and starts to grind on him. 

_Oh, shit._ She pushes her ass back against his soft dick, drink held in front of her. Hongjoong is shell-shocked, even though there’s countless people doing the same thing all around him, and have been all night. He really shouldn’t be so surprised. 

Now she’s rubbing little circles on his crotch in time with the music. Hongjoong really needs to stop this. 

“Soyeon,” he tries, taking a step back to break the contact between her ass and his groin. She turns around and follows him, arms encircling his waist, and there’s too many people behind him to move back any more. “Soyeon, I’m not—”

She kisses him. All the sudden, sticky lips on his own and a tongue that tastes like sour liquor slipping into his mouth. Hongjoong doesn’t have time to react before she pushes forward and lines her body against his so they’re pressed together from head to toe. 

Hongjoong kind of feels like he’s gonna throw up. After a few shell-shocked seconds, he wrenches his head back, stomach lurching. “Soyeon, I really don’t—”

And then he sees Seonghwa.

Hongjoong’s whole world falls away until it’s just Seonghwa standing there. Just Seonghwa standing there, alone in a crowd of people, and looking—he’s looking at Hongjoong like he’s been _stabbed_. His face reads shock and horror and something like _heartbreak_, even if it can’t fucking be that, because that doesn’t make any fucking _sense_, for him to be looking at Hongjoong like that. Like Hongjoong’s done something to wreck him like that.

_No,_he thinks, frozen in place as he looks at Seonghwa. His heart thumps painfully. _No, please—_

Seonghwa rips his eyes away and turns to weave through the crowd, heading towards the stairs. 

“I’m sorry I have to go,” Hongjoong tells Soyeon in a rush, and doesn’t wait to hear her response before pushing away to follow Seonghwa up the stairs. He shoves at the mass of bodies in his way and then finally he’s up the stairs and into the kitchen. 

There’s no sign of Seonghwa. 

_He must have left,_ Hongjoong thinks desperately, and runs outside. When he looks around his panic grows, heart racing, because the street is empty. There’s no sign of a dirty blonde head, a sloping walk. Then he swings around. 

Seonghwa’s leaning against the side of the house, kind of bent over, like he can’t support his own weight. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong strides up to him, adrenaline swelling to drown out his fear. Seonghwa flinches into himself at the sound and presses his back into the wall. “Hey,” Hongjoong says again, once they’re close enough to talk. 

Seonghwa doesn’t look up. “Hey, Joong,” he tells the grass, after a long pause. His voice is dull. “Where’s Soyeon?”

“What the fuck.” Hongjoong presses forward another step and hates it, he hates how Seonghwa cringes away from him again. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Seonghwa’s voice has a bitter edge to it now. His foot scuffs in the grass. “Looks like you were having a good time.”

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve. _Look at me_,” Hongjoong’s yelling now, and the loudness makes Seonghwa’s head snap up, finally. Hongjoong feels a spark of triumph, even if Seonghwa’s face looks crumpled and tired, like a used tissue. “I can’t believe you.”

“What can’t you believe?”

“You—” Rage makes Hongjoong’s tongue feel heavy, makes it hard to speak. “You ignore me for what, three weeks? And now you have the nerve to show up and act like I’ve—and act like I’m the bad guy? Huh? How’s that fair, Seonghwa?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” Seonghwa’s teeth clench around the words. His fists are clenched, too, where they hang at his sides. 

“Yeah?” Hongjoong’s laugh is incredulous. “Then what exactly would you call it, what you’ve been doing?” 

It’s so quiet out in the night air, the pounding of the music muted now that they’re above ground. Standing in the silence, Hongjoong feels drunk off anger more than the alcohol. He’s practically vibrating with it. He wants to scream his frustration out of his chest, exorcise himself of the heaviness that’s been weighing on his heart for what feels like forever. 

“I’ve been trying to be your _friend,_” Seonghwa says. The last word is soaked in bitterness, unmistakable. “I’ve been trying, okay? It’s not easy.”

“If that’s what you’re calling friendship now, I don’t want it,” Hongjoong lets the words pour out like poison. He’s not even sure if he really means it. All he knows is that it’s not _fair_, and he doesn’t understand. He wants to push and push until Seonghwa admits things are fucked up. He doesn’t want any more dancing around each other, any more politeness, any more caution. 

Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut. “I know I’ve been shitty. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not stupid,” Hongjoong says. He’s conscious of the way he breathes, too quickly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest like he’s just sprinted the length of a football field. “I know it’s because of that night.”

“Of course it’s about that.” Seonghwa huffs out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you thought it would be normal after that.”

“Why did you suggest it, then?” _Why’d you do that to me, when you probably knew I’d lose my fucking mind over it?_ “If you knew you were gonna regret it, why’d you—”

“Hold on.” Seonghwa’s frowning now. He straightens up to stare at Hongjoong. “Who said I regretted it?” 

Now it’s Hongjoong’s turn to fall back on the defensive. “I,” he starts. His mind works frantically. “I thought you—I thought you were freaked out.”

“Freaked out by what?” 

“By how much I liked it,” Hongjoong offers helplessly. He’s too lost in the maze of the conversation to offer anything but the truth. “You saw how much I liked it and you were creeped out, I don’t know.” He crosses his arms against his chest. “And I guess it’s fair you needed some space, but I swear,” and now he sounds like he’s begging, “I swear, I can control it, I won’t be weird. We don’t ever have to do it again, we can just go back, _please_—”

Seonghwa kisses him. He surges forward and grips the sides of Hongjoong’s face and kisses him, just like that. With force, like he wants Hongjoong to feel the imprint of his lips for days, a lingering, sweet soreness. 

When Seonghwa draws back, there are storms in his eyes, the intensity like the flash of a whip. It fades into something softer as he gazes at Hongjoong, one hand still cupping the side of his face. “I’m in love with you,” he tells Hongjoong. Whispers it like a confession, low and secret. 

Hongjoong’s brain has stopped working. His mouth feels tingly. “I—what?” he manages, staggering back a step so he can breath. “What?” 

“I’m in love with you,” Seonghwa says again. He lets his hand fall back to his side. “I didn’t regret it. I liked it. A lot.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Hongjoong chokes out. He searches Seonghwa’s eyes and doesn’t see any indication that he’s not serious about this. _Fuck_. Hongjoong sucks in a deep breath. His head feels like it’s about to burst. “Don’t fuck with me, Seonghwa, I really can’t handle it right now.”

“I’m serious.” Seonghwa rubs the back of his neck, the gesture oddly vulnerable. “I’m really sorry for kissing you. I should have asked first. If you still just want to be friends, that’s okay, I can do that. But I thought, maybe, you might—” he cuts off and sighs. “I don’t know. I had to tell you. It was killing me to keep it bottled up any longer.” 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. He feels like he’s in a dream. It can’t be real. It can’t be, the way Seonghwa’s looking at him, the layers of emotions in his eyes too hopelessly tangled for Hongjoong to even begin to unknot them. “Seonghwa,” he says again, and then, without wondering why he says it: “Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me?” 

Seonghwa frowns. “Is this a test?”

“You came to my room for the first time to do that orientation buddy scavenger hunt,” Hongjoong tells him. The memory of it is warm and familiar, and he closes his eyes. “You walked into my room and looked around, and then the first thing you said to me was, ‘Do you need help folding your clothes?’”

When he opens his eyes Seonghwa’s gazing at him, frown still etched on his forehead. “So I’m kind of an asshole?” Seonghwa asks. “Is that a grudge you’re still holding against me? I’ve definitely said worse to you since then.”

“It’s not a grudge.” Hongjoong smiles at him. “It’s what made me fall in love with you,” he says, and it feels _incredible_ to finally say it, after so many years of holding it on the tip of his tongue when Seonghwa acts like a dork or ruffles Yeosang’s hair or falls asleep at his desk. _I love you._ It feels so good and so _true_, the truest thing Hongjoong’s ever felt. 

“Joong,” Seonghwa croaks, and he blinks slowly, eyes fixed on Hongjoong’s face. “You’re not joking, right?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Hongjoong says, without any heat. He feels floaty. All the tension lost from his body and in its place is joy, seeping into every part of him. “Kiss me again to convince me,” he teases, feeling brave. 

Seonghwa’s laugh is laced with disbelief. He takes a step forward and presses a kiss against Hongjoong’s mouth, softer than before, but with just as much promise. “I want to date you,” he tells Hongjoong when he pulls back. Then he kisses him again. “I want to be your boyfriend.” Hongjoong smiles against his lips at the third kiss. “I want to take care of you.” 

“Excuse me,” Hongjoong says, faux-indignant, when he has control of his mouth. “I can do that fine on my own.”

Seonghwa smirks at him before he leans forward again. This time, the kiss is dirtier, Seonghwa’s tongue licking deep into his mouth before he draws back again. “I want to ride your cock until you cry,” he murmurs against Hongjoong’s lips, and Hongjoong feels that all over, shivery bursts in his abdomen. 

“That can be arranged,” he manages.

Seonghwa has leaned all the way back now, and he’s looking down at Hongjoong like a cat with a mouse trapped in its paws. “Oh, can it?” He puts his hands on Hongjoong’s hips. “When can you pencil me in?”

That’s so hot. Hongjoong’s definitely a bit hard now, if he wasn’t before. He doesn’t know how his brain is still functioning, with Seonghwa looking like he wants to eat him like that. “Um, I think I’m free tonight.”

Seonghwa slips one of one of his hands into Hongjoong’s palm, threading their fingers together. He tugs Hongjoong forward until he gets the hint, and they start walking back towards the house. 

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way,” Seonghwa says after a long while of walking in silence. 

Hongjoong squeezes his hand. “I thought you knew,” he admits. “I thought you figured it out with the whole dildo thing, and you didn’t want to…” he trails off. 

This time it’s Seonghwa who squeezes his fingers, tight, like a reproach. “I thought _you_ didn’t want to.” His grip loosens. “I never thought you’d actually agree to jerk off with me,” he says, then huffs out a laugh, like he still can’t quite believe it. 

They lapse into silence. It’s comfortable, like a well-worn sweater. Hongjoong feels so floaty, he imagines he might drift up into the sky if he lets go of Seonghwa’s hand. 

“Let’s get something to eat,” Hongjoong suggests. 

“The diner?” 

“Yeah.” Seonghwa’s thumb brushes against the back of his hand. 

____

_This is what love is,_ Hongjoong decides, when Seonghwa kisses the chocolate off his lips in full view of everyone at the restaurant. This is what love is. Wanting to eat chocolate chip pancakes with someone and make them laugh like that, crinkles in Seonghwa’s eyes, like they’re the only two people in existence. 

_Oh, man,_ Hongjoong thinks. _This game of Jenga is never gonna fucking end._


	4. Chapter 4

“Bottoms up, blondie,” Mingi says, then tips his red solo cup against Hongjoong’s. 

More like slams it, actually, and a good chunk of Hongjoong’s drink flippy-flops out of his cup and onto his shirt. Hongjoong is now wet in the bad way and also cold. 

“_Dude_,” he whines. 

Mingi pats at him—more like paws at him, with those clumsy bear hands. “It’s fine, it’s like a wet t-shirt contest,” he says, snort-laughing. “You shouldn’t be drinking before your big performance anyway.”

“That is exactly what I _should_ be doing,” Hongjoong retorts. 

That had been his plan, anyway, to drink until everything got loopy and whirly and he could really turn on the charm. A plan that Mingi has now ruined with his Edward Stupidhands. 

Hongjoong downs the rest of his vodka and barely manages not to choke. Whatever handle birthed his drink definitely cost in the single digits, judging by the arson it’s committing on his internal organs as it goes down.

“Looks like Wooyoung and Yunho are raring to go, buddy," Mingi says. "Bruh, I can't wait to see this, for real. Yeosang is a genius."

Hongjoong's stomach gurgles. “What about San? We can’t do it without him, that was the deal, so if he’s not here—”

“Calm your rosy little nipples, Joong.” Mingi nudges a shoulder against him, knocking him off-balance. “He’s coming. Got held up waiting for Seonghwa.”

Ah, okay. Cool. “Cool,” Hongjoong says. But actually— “Wait. Seonghwa’s coming?”

Mingi shrugs. “Yeah, guess so.” He turns to Hongjoong with an evil little grin. “Aw, are you nervous about your boyfriend seeing your new hair?” he asks, and then cackles just as evilly. “Or is it that he’s gonna watch you throw it back?” 

Hongjoong’s friends are intent on his destruction. Mingi has already laid waste to his plan to get totally inebriated, and now this? Back on his bullshit. Hongjoong glares at him. “I am _not_—”

“You’re not what?” Yunho appears beside him, handing Hongjoong another drink. He sniffs it suspiciously—yes! Alcy baby. Yunho > Mingi. He takes a large swallow instead of answering, and Yunho turns to Mingi. “He’s not what?”

“I think he’s saying he’s not gonna dance with y’all. RIP.”

“Hongjoong!” Yunho turns back to him, horrified. “You have to dance! There’s pair work; what are we gonna do with three people? ”

“I could think of a few things,” Mingi says, eyes crinkling. 

“I’m going to punch you in the throat,” Hongjoong tells him. 

“You’re just mad Seonghwa said your dick game was better than your throat game, dude, don’t take it out on me.”

“He didn’t say it was better, he said there was a steeper learning curve—and anyway he only said it to make Jongho feel better about biting that junior’s foreskin." Hongjoong isn’t that offended, because it had been pretty funny in the situational context. For appearance’s sake, he puts the glare back on and cranks up the force to 2x Disappointed Dad. “Shut up.” 

“I will when your sexual frustration stops being all—” Mingi makes a weird jazz hands gesture in the air. “It’s such a non-vibe.” 

Hongjoong huffs. “It’s finals. Everyone’s sexually frustrated.”

A beat of silence and then Yunho coughs. Even worse, Mingi is grinning worrisomely. 

“Shockingly, I do not want to hear it,” Hongjoong informs them both. “Why are so many of us fucking when we live in the same house? Who thought that was a good idea?”

“So we can eventually have a Big Phat House Orgy,” Mingi tells him happily. “Don’t worry, we can practice on cucumbers before then so you don’t embarrass yourself.” 

Yunho makes a sound like water threw itself up inside his mouth, and then luckily San arrives, panting at the bottom of the basement stairs like he jogged here. It’s also partially unlucky in Hongjoong’s case, because now he knows Seonghwa’s here too, and that’s not ideal, given what he’s contractually obligated to do now. 

San spots them and makes his way over. “I’m here,” he wheezes, kind of pointlessly. “I didn’t miss it, right?”

“Never!” Mingi’s new drunk thing is clapping people on the back, apparently. It’s very fratty and makes Hongjoong wrinkle his nose. “They’d never let this go down without you, Sannie. You’re the star.”

“I’m literally right here,” Hongjoong says, just as Yunho nods seriously and says, “Absolutely.” Hongjoong turns to San, aiming to gauge whether he can pull a Benedict Arnold on this whole dance thing, and then he—ah _yikes_. Sees Seonghwa. 

“He—_yohmygod_,” and then he just stands there, slack-jawed, staring. 

He knows Seonghwa’s been on a shoot for his fashion photo class, but this is actual homicide, showing up looking like—that.

Hongjoong’s brain works at 200% its normal operating speed trying to figure out everything that’s different with this Seonghwa. Okay: His hair is so sleek it’s reflecting light, pushed to the side to reveal his forehead and his eyebrows, which are filled in more than usual. Eyes ringed by dark eyeshadow. And the black turtleneck and wide-leg pants look hot as fuck on him, like a real model. The waist on him is incredible.

The only thing that’s _normal_ is that Seonghwa looks mean in an aristocratic way, his face all beautiful sharp angles. Hongjoong half-expects him to walk up and flick his eyes up and down Hongjoong’s sweaty body like he’s a dirty little minimum wage worker. 

_wHeN wOrLdS ColLLiDe…._

When Hongjoong returns to reality he realizes, with an awkward jump, that Seonghwa has gotten a lot closer. He’s holding two solo cups, one blue and one red, and he’s looking at Hongjoong’s hair with an unreadable expression. He hands the red cup to San and says something like “Here you go,” and San says “Thank fuck,” probably. 

Hongjoong’s not really following; he’s still looking at— _yikes_. Seonghwa’s eyes, which had jumped to San when he handed the cup over, flicker back to Hongjoong’s head. 

“Hey!” Hongjoong says. He can feel moisture on his hairline and his cheeks are burning. “How’re you doing?” 

“Seonghwa, what’s with the eyeshadow, man?” Mingi interrupts, and Hongjoong’s changed his heckin’ mind, Mingi > everyone. Seonghwa turns away to answer that and Hongjoong exhales, trying to push the sudden tension out of his body by remembering to breathe. 

The thing about Seonghwa is that looking at him is like getting pop rocks injected into your bloodstream. Maybe like taking cocaine, but Hongjoong’s never done anything more than weed, so the pop rocks analogy is what he’s going with. He feels hot, and even though it’s only been a few days since they last communicated, Hongjoong is sure he’ll literally burst into flames if Seonghwa says a single word to him. 

It’s also been nine days since he’d had Seonghwa’s tight ass milking the come out of his dick, leaving him brain-dead and drooling on his mattress. Right now Seonghwa could do as little as put his hands on Hongjoong’s hips to move him out of the way, and Hongjoong would shoot off in these stupid-tight jeans, _negative_ cap. 

And the worst thing is that Seonghwa can probably tell. In just three-point-five months he's already learned all of Hongjoong's turned-on signals. Hongjoong just has to smile nervously and stare a little and bite his lip and Seonghwa gets this condescending smirk—sometimes he just rolls his eyes! Who could blame Hongjoong for wanting to roll up to his feet with a sign saying "trash to step on" pinned to his shirt?

If they’re in public and he knows Hongjoong has a boner, Seonghwa is merciless. He'll—he'll find a way to slip a hand onto Hongjoong’s lower back and dig his nails into the skin there. If they’re alone, he’ll often slide right onto Hongjoong’s lap and—

That’s absolutely not important to be thinking about right now. 

Hongjoong is grateful he’s wearing the dark jeans he keeps meaning to donate because they're just a shade too small, meaning they heavily discourage his dick from perking up, let alone ejaculating. 

He takes an oversized swallow of his drink and tunes back into the conversation—Mingi’s saying something and the rest of them are laughing and nodding along. Seonghwa isn’t looking at him at all, really, which is cool—but. He hasn’t said _anything_ about Hongjoong’s hair, and it’s not like Hongjoong’s upset, per say, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect a reaction other than being completely ignored. 

As if Hongjoong didn’t just bleach his virgin (well, partially virgin) hair because of the whole confrontation/fight Seonghwa had decided to spring on him before going off on that shoot. Which was: No communication while he was away. A four day “break."

Seonghwa had proposed it like it’d be a mutual decision, but Hongjoong knew he’d be left on seen/read/delivered whether or not he verbally committed to the break. So he’d “agreed.” Also he may have felt like Seonghwa’s complaints—that since finals started Hongjoong had been uncommunicative, unresponsive, spacey and barely around—were justified.

Also Seonghwa had been that kind of mad where he crossed his arms and spoke very precisely and maturely, which freaked Hongjoong the fuck out and made him feel like a flaming pile of garbage. 

In his defense, though, third-year music production classes are almost literally _killer._ When they’d talked, Hongjoong hadn’t slept in at least 26 hours and had actually started imagining Seonghwa with a poofy chef’s hat like that dude in Ratatouille, and thinking about how Seonghwa would react to having a fun rat friend under his hat, except instead of telling him how to cook it would tell him how to organize the dishwasher. Anyway he’d agreed and Seonghwa left, and since then he’s just tried to focus on being better prepared for their first conversation when he got back. 

In this present moment, it’s looking increasingly like that first conversation will take place under a cheap strobe light, and Hongjoong’s gonna have a big damp stain all across his shirt and the beginning of an erection during it. 

He did not plan for this.

“I can’t believe they’d vote for Youngjo over you,” Yunho’s saying, affronted, when Hongjoong moves his brain back to the present. “That’s ridiculous.”

Seonghwa shrugs, mouth curving into a slight smile. “I was surprised to get second, actually.” He jumps and laughs when San, grinning like a demon, pokes him in the side. 

“Their lack of taste is no fault of their own, being lower life-forms,” Mingi reassures him. 

Seonghwa is in danger of getting Clapped when Wooyoung joins the circle, pushing his way between Mingi’s arm and Seonghwa’s delicate shoulder. 

“HELLO!” he says, speaking in all caps, clearly having replaced at least a quarter of his body’s water supply with hard liquor. His eyes dart from San to Yunho to Hongjoong with concerning speed. “Are you ready to go?”

“Oh man,” San looks at his watch with an expression of absolute horror. Except he’s not wearing a watch, and Hongjoong witnesses as his expression morphs from panicked to a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t realize it was—_go-time_,” he says, and Wooyoung says, “Eyyyy,” and does this gross eye-smile while they high-five and knock shoulders. 

Hongjoong would normally appreciate a trashy pun but not _now_, when all he wants to do is look at Seonghwa and exchange pained but amused glances. Which he’s not sure he’s allowed to do, because he’s not sure how angry Seonghwa still is. 

The whole thing makes him nauseated and ache-y inside. He keeps his eyes on Wooyoung and San, just to be safe. 

“I’m ready,” Yunho confirms. 

Hongjoong realizes they’re all looking at him, even Seonghwa, so he blurts out, “Yeah, I’m good—good to go,” and feels like his smile is extremely wrong and ugly. Doesn’t matter, because they’re moving toward the empty space near the speakers and why did he ever agree to this?

Oh right. Yeosang’s birthday. Or actually not even Yeosang’s birthday, which isn’t for another month, but he has the nerve to move out early because he has some fancy summer internship to do. Hongjoong isn’t sure of all the details, but he sure as hell has heard about it thanks to Wooyoung’s whining. Hence emergency early birthday celebration. 

Yeosang just _had_ to ask for a group dance for his present. There’s the little shit himself, standing at the front of the crowd, looking all angelic and deceiving as usual. He cheers as they get into position in the circle of clear space. 

Someone—probably Jongho—has turned on the _lights_, why, God? 

Somewhere out there, Seonghwa hasn’t seen him dance since freshman year, and he’s watching. Hongjoong is damp with sweat. 

Their basement’s acoustics are for shit but the music is loud. _Hey yo big bro you fucking with that?_ crackles out of the speakers and Hongjoong just—whooh. He lets go, with effort, lets all the stress and worry and tiredness flow out of him as he cracks his neck to loosen up. 

Even if he doesn’t do it competitively anymore, Hongjoong loves to dance. And he’s good as shit at it, just like his housemates. 

_Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up groove, baby girl watch how you move_—

Yunho’s choreography is honestly fire. Hongjoong loves what he imagined for them, loves and knows this dance like the back of his hand, and he has fun with it, feeling the beat move his body. People _cheer_ when they do the hip thrusts and Hongjoong shakes a bead of sweat out of his eyes, grinning. He feels fuckin’ _alive_, he forgot how much he loved this. 

_She like to suck on my clock _ plays and a few seconds later it’s over. 

Hongjoong barely hears the clapping and Yeosang’s shouted “Oh my god!” He’s sweating, still, but Yunho’s hand feels solid where it squeezes his arm, both of them grinning, breathless, at each other and San and Wooyoung beside them. 

It was only a minute and in front of like 30-50 people, but he’d _danced._ Awesome. 

“That was super amazing,” Yeosang tells them, and okay maybe the angelic thing is cute and endearing after all. He’s pink-cheeked and happy, smiling with an arm slung around Wooyoung. “The best early birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Yunho ruffles his hair. “Should we sing?” 

“I’m not leaving until tomorrow night,” Yeosang says. “Plenty of time for that.”

“Okay, but you’re absolutely not getting out of it,” Wooyoung warns. “I’m gonna get Seonghwa to full-on Mariah right in your ear.”

“Where is Seonghwa, anyway?” San asks, looking around. “He said he would record us. That little bitch. If he dipped—”

“I’ll go find him,” Hongjoong says, in an effort to not be a huge coward. 

The basement is small and gross, and Seonghwa is tall and heartbreakingly gorgeous, so it doesn’t take long to realize Seonghwa isn’t part of any of the little groups or loners dotting the walls. 

Maybe he _did_ dip. 

Maybe he’s so eager to avoid talking to Hongjoong that he snuck out as soon as the dance ended. 

Maybe he realized, when he was away, that not having to talk to Hongjoong was great, and he’s trying to figure out how to introduce a permanent break without ruining their friendship. Because Seonghwa is considerate like that. He’d make breaking up with Hongjoong a _process_ so it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

When Hongjoong emerges from the staircase into the kitchen, he immediately spots Seonghwa nestled in the corner. _Oh thank God_. 

And then his heart clenches right up again because Seonghwa is smiling, and he’s smiling at a guy—and they look pretty cosy, anyone looking at them from the outside would think they’re flirting, the way their bodies are angled, the way Seonghwa smiles and dips his head like he’s too shy to make eye contact.

Hongjoong vaguely realizes his vision is starting to fizz at the edges. 

Then Seonghwa pushes up his sleeve and holds his arm out, pointing at the stick-and-poke Hongjoong gave him sophomore year, and the guy _wraps a hand around Seonghwa’s forearm,_ thumb pressed over the tattoo—

“Excuse me,” Hongjoong says, and then realizes somehow he’s moved fifteen feet and the guy—that fucking Youngjo from Seonghwa’s class, Hwanwoong’s boyfriend—is looking at him in surprise. “Hello,” he says to Seonghwa, because he’s not trying to get murdered. Seonghwa’s expression is impossible to read. 

“Hey, Joong,” Youngjo says, friendly like a snake. “I was just telling Seonghwa how great your dancing was. You guys killed it.”

Hongjoong gives him a Caucasian smile. Nice to see you, bitch—keep moving. “I don’t see Hwanwoong here,” he says, just as friendly, and fakes an exaggerated twist-around of his head. 

Youngjo takes it in stride. “He’s home sick,” he explains.

“Oh, but he, like, definitely knows you’re here, right?” Hongjoong asks sweetly. 

He can feel Seonghwa shooting him a Look, but he’s being _nice_, so he ignores it. 

“He does,” Youngjo answers, then grins ruefully. “I told him I was just gonna stay a little while. Not sure he’s happy I’m here instead of nursing him, though.”

“Yeah, choosing a party over your sick boyfriend is some kind of move, huh?” 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa hisses at him.

“No, he’s right.” Hongjoong doesn’t like how Youngjo is looking at him, like he’s something feisty and cute and small, like a beaver with rabies. “I should head out,” he says, a little bit of that trashy, amused smile on his face as he says his goodbyes.

As soon as he’s out of earshot Hongjoong turns to Seonghwa and asks, desperate and rushed, “Okay, I know you hated that but can we—can we talk?” 

He stays there staring at Seonghwa, who looks—Hongjoong is an idiot because he can never tell what Seonghwa’s feeling at all. He sees indecision and irritation and who knows what else, and it all blends together into Seonghwa’s face, so beautifully familiar and known that Hongjoong wants to drop to his knees and cry in relief. 

“Fine,” Seonghwa says eventually. He looks around at all the dirty cups and the half-spilled bag of Hot Cheetos on the floor, scrunching his nose in distaste. “Where did you have in mind?”

“There’s, um. Just — I’ll show you, if you follow me,” Hongjoong waits for his nod before leading him out of the kitchen to the little doorway across from the front entrance. 

“A closet,” Seonghwa says, when Hongjoong opens the door and flicks on the lights. 

“Yeah! I mean, I figured it would be quiet, and people would be bothering us in the bathroom, so.” 

“How did you even know this was here?” 

Hongjoong scratches the back of his head. “I may have accidentally. Spilled coffee beans all over their living room, when I was here. Hanging out with Doyoung. So I had to go get the vacuum.”

Not exactly a story that paints him in the best light, but whatever, Seonghwa knows him. Seonghwa hums softly, which could mean any number of things, but he steps into the closet and after a second of internal screaming, Hongjoong follows him and closes the door behind them. 

“So, that was kind of rude,” Seonghwa says, unfairly beautiful even under the bright artificial light of the single bulb that illuminates the closet. “You want to explain yourself?”

Hongjoong resists the urge to do something stupid, like pout, or scrunch his nose up again. He crosses his arms. “He has a boyfriend. And a tiny dick, by the way—Wooyoung hooked up with him last year.”

“Are you serious, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa laughs, incredulous, and yeah, Hongjoong wants to make a face like a five year old child being denied candy. 

“I’m just saying—” What is he saying, actually? He shakes his head. Too many thoughts. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

“Like a human being? Yeah, I can see how you wouldn’t understand that.”

Seonghwa had said basically the same thing when they fought before the shoot, but not as _mean_. Hongjoong makes a strangled sound. “I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, helplessly. “I know I’ve been fucking up. I just—you’re mad at me, and I was worried—”

“Worried about what?” Seonghwa asks, crossing his arms. “That I was going to fuck the first guy who looked at me? I said communication break, Hongjoong, not a hall pass.”

“I wasn’t worried about that! I know you wouldn’t —” Just the thought of it makes Hongjoong’s stomach curdle. 

“Then what?”

“I just.” Hongjoong bites his lip. “It’s stupid. I was jealous. I—you were smiling at him, and I just— wanted to talk to you.” He sighs, gaze dropping to the floor because he’s too much of a coward to meet Seonghwa’s eyes. “I know I don’t deserve it, but. I missed you.” 

Honesty is the best policy, right? He hopes that wasn’t too honest. He feels raw, stripped down to the bone, and he forces himself to swing his eyes back up and make eye contact for a split second, before: 

“I literally cannot believe you,” Seonghwa says, and suddenly there are hands in Hongjoong’s hair and a mouth pressing insistently on his, warm and purposeful. 

Seonghwa makes a frustrated sound and it’s then that Hongjoong realizes he’s being _kissed_. Which is not what he expected but his lips open instinctually, letting Seonghwa’s tongue push into his mouth, heat spreading like hot stones all through his body. 

Time flows differently when he’s kissing Seonghwa but it’s way too soon when Seonghwa pulls back, just out of reach of Hongjoong’s mouth. “Mmnuh,” Hongjoong says in protest, blinking. His lips don’t feel like part of his body. Incredible. 

“I’m still not happy with you,” Seonghwa warns him, close and soft. “You’re still an idiot.”

“That’s okay,” Hongjoong says. “Can we kiss more?”

A stretch of silence, and then, “Yeah,” and Seonghwa gives him his mouth again, fuck but Hongjoong’s missed this. He missed the sweet pressure of lips against his lips, Seonghwa’s hands all over him, neck and hair and waist like he can’t decide where to keep them. He’s being pressed against a bunch of Clorox bottles and paper towels in a closet in a house that’s not his and Seonghwa’s tongue is curling around his own like it belongs there. 

He may have spoken too soon about that whole pants/erection thing. His dick is straining against his jeans, making a masterful attempt to stay hard despite the constriction. 

He gathers enough stray brain cells and pushes Seonghwa off. “Hey, um—”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, taking a step back. He’s breathing a little heavy and he’s so fucking hot, fuck. “Yeah, you’re right. Not the best place for this.”

“That’s not what I,” Hongjoong says. “I was gonna say. Could I suck you off?”

Seonghwa stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“Can I suck you off? I’ve been thinking about it, a lot,” probably TMI, Hongjoong, chill, “I mean if you don’t want me to that’s obviously fine, I know you’re still angry.” 

“You want to suck me off — here?” Seonghwa asks, doubtful. “You hate giving blowjobs.”

“I don’t hate giving blowjobs!” Hongjoong says. The only reason he may possibly _avoid_ giving blowjobs is that he’s pretty sure he’s shit at it and looks stupid. But he read like twelve Cosmo articles on oral sex and he’s determined to try again, because if he makes Seonghwa feel good that’s more than enough reward. “I’m serious, I don’t care where. We can go back to the house but, uh,” he gestures vaguely at his throbbing dick, “I’d have to wait a few minutes.”

“Here’s...okay,” Seonghwa says eventually. “If you’re sure.”

“Cool,” Hongjoong says. Then he realizes he has to actually, like, do it, and drops to his knees in front of Seonghwa, eye-level with his penis. To Hongjoong’s surprise, it actually looks pretty chubby.

Jesus, Hongjoong’s mouth is watering. 

He’s not sure why oral makes him so nervous. Sexually, he’s always been more of a follower than a leader, and it’s not too complicated to stick your dick into an asshole, especially when Seonghwa does most of the work for him, and makes it look sexy as fuck to boot. 

In contrast, Hongjoong’s gonna have to put some creative thinking into this blowjob. 

He unfastens Seonghwa’s e-boy model pants and tugs down his boxers so he can get to that beautiful cock underneath. He really loves Seonghwa’s dick, mostly because it’s attached to Seonghwa, but also objectively it’s just a really nice, clean, well-shaped penis. 

_Just gonna act like this is easy,_ he thinks. _Pretend he’s not there. Not like one blowjob is gonna make or break the relationship, ha ha. Ha_.

He gets his hand around the shaft, nice and thick and almost fully hard, and gives the head a little lick. One of the articles recommended starting with some teasing, so Hongjoong keeps his attention around the head, hand wrapped firmly around the shaft as he digs his tongue into the veins under the head. Then he takes the whole head into his mouth and _sucks_, tongue pressed flat underneath to create a nice cushion. 

“Ah, fuck,” Seonghwa says, strained, above him. 

“You can put your hands in my hair,” Hongjoong says when he pulls off, and wants to giggle a bit at the pop! sound it makes. 

Usually Seonghwa doesn’t need much direction putting Hongjoong exactly where he wants him. Huh. Maybe he’s afraid Hongjoong’s gonna bite his dick or throw up on it. 

Seonghwa’s hands thread back into his hair, petting his head like he’s a dog. That is his _shit_ right there, yeah. Hongjoong feels good, grounded, feels warmth trickling through him from where Seonghwa’s hands touch his head. 

He takes Seonghwa’s cock back into his mouth. This time he takes a good few inches more of the shaft inside, going really slow so he doesn’t disturb his gag reflex too soon, and trying to remember to keep sucking. 

“Shit, Joong,” Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong’s praise kink casts awe into the words. 

It gets uncomfortable with an inch or two of the shaft still to go. Hongjoong feels the head hitting the back of his throat and he tries to keep sucking, teeth tucked away carefully, but then he tries to take it a tiny bit deeper and chokes. When he withdraws, he coughs a little, dislodging the line of spit that connects his lips to the cockhead. He takes a second to look at how Seonghwa’s dick is shiny all over with his saliva. Wonderful. He brings his hand up to spread spit down the shaft, amazed at how wet it’s gotten.

“When did you start deepthroating?” Seonghwa asks, and Hongjoong’s almost sure he’s not imagining the real wonder in his voice. Then his whole body shudders and: “_Mmfuck_.” 

Hongjoong repeats the movement he’d done, wrapping his fingers around the head in a tight ring and jerking it off fast. There’s enough spit that his cock glides through Hongjoong’s fingers. Seonghwa thrusts into his hand, breathing harsh, and oh, that means Hongjoong is doing something right; being good. “You’re being good, you’re being perfect, perfect,” Seonghwa tells him roughly, and oops, he may have spoken that out loud. 

Hongjoong’s stomach jolts with arousal when they make eye contact. Seonghwa’s dark hair is falling into his eyes and his neck is rigid, lip held between his teeth. He’s looking at Hongjoong so intensely that Hongjoong has to take a second to rest his forehead on Seonghwa’s thigh. 

“You all right?” Seonghwa asks. His hand pets the back of Hongjoong’s head, but his thigh is trembling. “We can stop.”

“I’m good,” Hongjoong says, after taking a deep breath. He sneaks another look at Seonghwa, greedy. 

It’s easier to take his cock deep the second time. Hongjoong manages a few seconds with his throat convulsing and it actually doesn’t feel as bad as he’d thought. The articles all said to relax your throat and breath through your nose, so Hongjoong tries that as long as he can until he has to pull up to halfway, more manageable, and sucks up and down until he feels like he can try to go further again. 

Seonghwa’s hand tightens in his hair when he’s gagging on his cock for the third time. “Joong, fuck, I’m going to—gonna come in your mouth if you don’t get off, Jesus fucking Christ—”

Hongjoong pulls off all the way up to the head and sucks stubbornly, gripping the shaft with one hand. He’s gonna suck the come out of Seonghwa just like this and swallow it, watch him. With that thought, he tilts his head up to meet Seonghwa’s eyes— another piece of advice from the internet—and tongues the underside of his cockhead. Seonghwa’s eyes are like fire on his, hand gripping Hongjoong’s hair so tight he can feel it pull at his scalp, oh fuck yeah.

Seonghwa stares at him and thrusts once, twice, and Hongjoong takes it. He’s taking it, he’s not biting, he’s sucking and letting Seonghwa in, he hopes his eyes are saying it for him, _take it all I’ll give it to you just wanna make you feel good_ and he’s—and there’s— 

— come in his throat. 

“Joong,” Seonghwa says, and a lot of words that don’t really sound like words, just syllables stretching into nonsense. 

When he’s pretty sure it’s over — not like he’s an expert, he’s never had a dick orgasm in his throat before — Hongjoong pulls off. He swallows, and yeah, that’s not a fun taste.

He must be making some kind of scrunched face because Seonghwa huffs out a little laugh above him. “You swallowed,” he says, sounding kind of amazed and also like he’s gotten the wind knocked right out of him. 

“I did,” Hongjoong says, can’t really keep a lick of pride from his tone. “Kinda nasty, to be honest.”

Seonghwa laughs for real. “Can you stand up?”

Hongjoong winces as he gets up, stiff knees throwing him off balance. He forgets the knee pain almost immediately because Seonghwa tugs him forward into a hug. Warm arms all around him and Hongjoong’s chin just barely fits onto Seonghwa’s bony shoulder. 

“You smell very expensive,” Hongjoong says. He feels Seonghwa’s ribcage expand against his chest, slow and steady, and that’s nice, that’s very calming, like physical ASMR (?). 

“Yeah, you’re broke now, sorry,” Seonghwa says into his neck, breath hot on his skin. When Seonghwa pulls back, his eyes catch on Hongjoong’s face and then he looks at Hongjoong’s hair, fingers running through the strands, soft. “Can’t believe you bleached your hair.”

“What do you think?”

“You look like a wet fucking dream, that’s what I think,” Seonghwa huffs a little chuckle. “I thought I was going to lose it when I saw you.”

Hongjoong resists the urge to preen. Doesn’t help how Seonghwa’s hands are massaging his scalp, soft skritches that radiate hot waves all the way down to his toes. “I’ve gotten a bunch of fairy jokes already, lol.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Uh,” Hongjoong blinks at the shelves behind Seonghwa’s head. “I wanted to do something, like, aggressive. Dramatic? I was kind of upset, I guess, so it was a good distraction. Also considered piercings and tattoos, but would’ve been a lot of work.” 

The skritches stop. “Upset? At me, you mean?” Seonghwa asks. 

Hongjoong sighs and drops his forehead back onto Seonghwa’s shoulder. He wishes Seonghwa would pet him more. Too hard to talk right now, damn, and him dyeing his hair feels like forever ago, anyway. Ancient history. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly feeling dandy after you left,” he says into the neck part of Seonghwa’s turtleneck. Then he raises his head, and Seonghwa looks—not happy, not really, frowning with his lips pressed together. Hongjoong doesn’t like that at all but just now he's remembering he’s still kind of _without orgasm_, wedged up against Seonghwa and his ASMR hands. “Hey, this is great, like, 10/10 would recommend—”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says, and yeah that’s it, he looks better now, lips curled up instead of down. “Make sure to leave a Yelp review. Tasty dessert, good service."

Hongjoong internally cringes into a little ball of fiery garbage. 

Just then he has one of those moments that've been hitting hard over the past few months. A concentrated pure shot of being so stupid in love with Seonghwa it makes his heart do the equivalent of pole-vaulting, all twisted up and suspended in the air, breathless, too much adrenaline for his body to handle. 

He has absolutely no idea what his face is doing but he may have made a weird nonsense noise and pushed his hips against Seonghwa, grinding his erection against the hard plane of abdomen in front of him.

Seonghwa’s eyes widen and he looks down. 

“Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry,” Hongjoong grits his teeth and puts a good safe distance between their respective lower halves. “I can wait. Until we get home. I swear. The Yelp thing just—it’s cool.” He shuts his eyes tight and forces a long, long exhale.

“Why are you sorry, Joong, Jesus?” Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong opens his eyes just as Seonghwa’s hands sneak down to undo the buttons on his jeans. 

“Hah!” is what he says when those hands massage his dick over his boxers, bucking into the touch. 

“You want oral? What do you want?” Seonghwa asks, like goddamn sexy wet dream, and he must be joking if he thinks Hongjoong has a single thought in his brain right now other than _touch me please touch me _ and _ahhhhh_. 

“Uhnmmmg,” Hongjoong thrusts, mindless. “Just—hand is good.” Very unselfish of him, actually, because why put Seonghwa’s beautiful knees on this dirty-ass floor when he’s just gonna shoot off in five seconds? 

Seonghwa laughs, then turns him around so Hongjoong’s back is against his front. Better angle, much better—Seonghwa unwraps his cock from his boxers and grips it tight. “You poor baby,” he says, and Hongjoong makes an embarrassing sound, from the words or from having his dick held like a possession, he doesn't know.

Hongjoong is in actual heaven. Seonghwa gives god-tier everything but especially handjobs, whew-ee! His grip isn’t as tight as normal, probably because it’s not as wet, but it’s so perfect, fast and hard strokes with a twist at the top that makes the head of his cock go _sloppy_. 

And of course because it’s Seonghwa, he has to talk.

“Look at you like this, hm?” he murmurs into Hongjoong’s neck. Slows down his strokes, because he wants Hongjoong to _fucking die_. 

“Nnnnuh,” Hongjoong complains, chasing his hand with his hips. He’s so close, so so close, just a little more and he’s gonna— 

“—whole alpha male thing up there was cute,” Seonghwa’s saying, and he takes his hand off, chuckles when Hongjoong whimpers, heartbroken. “I bet Youngjo was scared of you,” he teases, dragging his knuckles up Hongjoong’s cock in the lightest of touches. 

“Please,” Hongjoong says. “Seonghwa, _please God_—ah,” and Seonghwa’s jacking him off again, incredible, his other hand gripping Hongjoong’s hip to keep him still. 

“What would he think if he could hear you right now?” Seonghwa asks. The question reaches Hongjoong through a thick electric haze of arousal, and he just pants, too far gone to form words. Seonghwa's grip tightens. “I think he’d know exactly who you belong to, that’s what I think.” 

It’s the image that sends him over the edge, spilling into Seonghwa’s hand, a sharp gasp that turns into one long drawn-out moan as Seonghwa’s beautiful perfect hand squeezes him dry. 

“Oh Jesus I’m going to hell,” Hongjoong says when he resurrects himself. At some point he’d dropped his head back to rest on Seonghwa’s shoulder again, what a handy guy, always having somewhere for Hongjoong’s head to go when he's incoherent with lust. Lol. Seonghwa’s hand is rubbing circles onto his hip and it feels lovely. Hongjoong lifts his head with effort, looking around. “Oh. Hell is a fraternity supply closet. This makes complete sense.”

“Ha ha,” Seonghwa says. “So I’d be with you in hell, that’s flattering. I think.” 

Hongjoong pushes himself off Seonghwa with an internal sigh at breaking off their physical contact. _Oh, so you think _you’d_ be going to heaven_, he’s gonna say, but when he turns around Seonghwa says, “Do think I can steal some of their paper towels to wipe your come off?”

They look at each other and giggle for a solid minute. 

“Just go for it,” Hongjoong says, breathless, when they’re done. “It’ll be like poetic justice.”

“Justice for wh—never mind, don’t want to know.” 

When Seonghwa’s hand is clean — clean according to Hongjoong, of course; Seonghwa is definitely gonna spend some quality time with the soap when they get home — they look each other over for obvious signs of fornication and exit the closet.

Hongjoong checks his phone. It’s only around one o’clock, still pretty early. He feels wiped though, tired in the fun satisfied way that he imagines athletes feel after a “race” or a “match.” 

“Home?” he asks Seonghwa, and doesn’t even slightly second-think it before reaching over to interlock their fingers. 

Seonghwa smiles at him. “Home,” he agrees. Then, a little serious: “Sleep with me? I mean just sleeping in my bed. Tonight.”

“Yes!” — Too aggressive, don’t be weird, “I mean yes. Thank you.”

Seonghwa smiles wider, squeezing his hand.

Of course he’s not gonna say _no_. 

If he said no that would mean he couldn’t whisper _love you_ into Seonghwa’s ear as he performed the role of big spoon perfectly, arms wrapped firm but not too tight around Seonghwa’s chest. And that would mean, dropping off into blissful unconsciousness, he wouldn’t feel Seonghwa press back, wouldn’t hear his _love you, too_, soft but clear, literally the best thing he’s ever heard in his life. Like getting pop rocks injected straight into his —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [my cc :)](https://curiouscat.qa/eongkyeo)


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